A Thousand Fibres
by Helen C
Summary: After Voldemort's defeat, Harry finds himself finally free to do what he wants. Now, if only he knew what he wants...
1. Chapter 1 : After the End

**A Thousand Fibres  
**  
Helen C.

_Rating : PG-13_

Summary : After Voldemort's defeat, Harry finds himself finally free to do what he wants. Now, if only he knew what he wants...

Spoilers : All five books are fair game.

Disclaimer : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Acknowledgements : Many thanks to Emily, who beta'd this and to Sharon, for her help on the first chapter.

Notes : Like many people, I was disappointed by Dumbledore's declarations at the end of OotP. I wrote this fic partly to make him and Harry resolve their problems, and partly to see what Harry might do with his life, once he doesn't have to fight evil anymore. I had a great time writing this story, but when it was all finished, it suddenly occurred to me that I had just written about 90 pages in which nothing happens. So, this fic taught me a very important lesson : happy people have no stories. I should have known that, in fact I did know that, but well

I'm not sure who could be interested in reading this. But it's written, it's finished, and on the off chance that someone, somewhere, might like it, I'll just post it.

Oh, and many thanks to Elaine, who read the story, and liked it : ) I probably wouldn't even consider posting it without her comments.  


* * *

**A Thousand Fibres  
**  
Helen C.

_We cannot live only for ourselves. A thousand fibres connect us with our fellow men; and among those fibres, as sympathetic threads, our actions run as causes, and they come back to us as effects.  
_**Herman Melville  
**

**Part One : At Hogwarts  
**

_Chapter One : After the End  
_

At the end of his first year at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Harry Potter stopped Voldemort, the darkest wizard this side of Grindelwald, from reaching the Philosopher's Stone and coming back to power.

At the end of his second year, Harry slew a Basilik, and destroyed a diary created years before by the teenager who would become Voldemort - a diary used to possess Ginny Weasley so she could unleash the Basilik on the school.

At the end of his third year, Harry met Voldemort's servant, the man responsible for his parents' deaths, Peter Pettigrew, and by refusing to let two friends of his father kill Pettigrew, allowed him to escape and return to his master.

At the end of his fourth year, Voldemort abducted Harry and used his blood in a ritual in which the dark wizard regained his body, and the less said about that, the better.

At the end of his fifth year came the battle at the Ministry of Magic, and the less said about **that**, the better.

At the end of his sixth year, Death Eaters attacked the Hogwarts Express on its way back to London. For the first time, Harry killed in self defence, when Bellatrix decided to have some "fun" with him and Neville.

It had been a recurring theme of his years at Hogwarts, Harry sometimes thought. A slow building of the tension during the year, clues that not everything was right - that darkness was coming - culminating in an often cataclysmic battle, then a boring and painful summer with his relatives.

So it came as a surprise to everyone when Voldemort and his supporters launched a full blown attack on Hogsmeade, intent on killing Harry, not at the end of Harry's seventh year, but in December, ten days before Christmas.

As Harry had always vaguely felt it would, it all came down to a single combat. He and Voldemort duelled, Harry thinking frantically that his DADA lessons hadn't been enough, in the face of everything Voldemort threw at him : dismemberment spells, burning curses, Unforgivables.

Voldemort had found him in front of the Hog's Head. The rest of the Death Eaters were wreaking havoc in the village, and Harry, who had been near the pub, had decided to try to fire call the school so they could send the teachers. In the meantime, the rest of the students, as well as the shop owners, defended themselves against Voldemort's minions.

Ron and Hermione had stayed behind to help. So, Harry was alone when Voldemort appeared in front of him, Wormtail trailing after him. The duel began there.

By the time Dumbledore, the teachers, and several Order members arrived, Harry and Voldemort had run, ducked, hidden and strayed their way out of the main street of the village. There were no Death Eaters protecting their lord, busy as they were with the DA and the people of Hogsmeade. Peter was still there, though, cowering to avoid the curses Harry and Voldemort were throwing at each other.

Harry could hear curses shouted some distance behind him, screams of pain, impacts on the ground, but he was too busy trying to survive to pay much attention to what was happening on the battleground.

He was focused only on Voldemort, and Voldemort only on him. Neither of them noticed Dumbledore sneaking up behind Voldemort, raising his wand, and intoning a curse.

"Master!" Pettigrew screamed.

The green light was every bit was frightening as Harry remembered it.

Then, there was that awful pain in his head again. Occlumency could do nothing to stop Voldemort from possessing him at such a close range.

He could see Dumbledore staring at Voldemort's body on the ground, could feel his own lips moving, but could not understand what was being said. The only thing he was conscious of was the pain, and a few fragments of past conversations.

_"He will have power the Dark Lord knows not."  
_  
_"Your mother died to save you."  
_  
_"An ancient magic of which he knows, which he despises, and which he has always, therefore, underestimated."  
_  
Dumbledore fired another curse, and Voldemort's body was engulfed in flames. The pain in Harry's head grew, as he tried to force Voldemort out.

_"It was your heart that saved you."  
_  
He remembered the Ministry, and his grief for Sirius. It had been enough to make Voldemort flee. Harry focussed all his thoughts on Sirius and what he had felt when his godfather had fallen behind the veil.

Voldemort seemed to understand immediately what he was trying to do, and found another image in Harry's memories - Bellatrix, taunting him after Sirius's death. Harry then tried to recapture his feelings when Hagrid gave him a photo album full of pictures of his family. Voldemort retaliated by reminding Harry of his anger at the Dursleys, who had spent so many years lying to him about his heritage, about his parents, about his own worth.

It went on for what felt like an eternity to Harry - he'd focus on something painful, like the guilt he had felt when Voldemort had used his blood to resurrect himself, or his lonely childhood. Voldemort would reciprocate by making him remember his anger during his fifth year, or his hatred for Bellatrix.

The pain was receding and returning in waves.

Harry thought about the Weasleys, offering him a family, and was reminded of Percy's letter to Ron. About Remus hugging him, after a bad Occlumency lesson with Snape - and Voldemort found the impressive collection of memories in which Snape derided him in class.

The pain began to diminish when Harry thought about his parents - were they waiting for him, on the other side? The image of Pettigrew, crawling on the ground, touching Harry's robes, reminded Harry of his blinding anger when he had learned what role the rat had played in the betrayal of his parents. The pain came back with a vengeance, and Harry thought frantically about the Mirror of Erised, showing him the family he had never known. His longing for a place to belong. His longing for peace, for the war to just be over.

The pain had been so intense that Harry didn't realise it was gone for several minutes. Then, he tried to move, and found himself on the ground. There were still battle sounds around him. He tried to rise, but everything was spinning.

Then, everything went black.

--8888--

23 December

Harry had just spent two days starting at the ceiling of the hospital wing, and he was bored to tears. Bored out of his mind. Thoroughly fed up with the staring. His friends came see him whenever they could, of course, but Madam Pomfrey had imposed strict rules, and their visits were too few and far between for Harry's liking.

Not that he felt up to, say, playing Quidditch, yet. His Occlumency fight with Voldemort had drained him, and the sheer strength he had needed to use to push Voldemort back from his mind, to force the monster to let go of his last grasp on this world, had almost killed him.

He had spent several days in a coma. His throat was still raw from screaming. The headache still hadn't disappeared, though it was becoming less fierce, thank Merlin.

So, yes, okay, he could see why Madam Pomfrey didn't want him overexerting himself.

Still

There was a world of difference between overexerting himself, and talking a few minutes with his friends. Wasn't there?

He sighed.

He wanted to see someone. To talk a little.

To catch up on the news. Had Fudge finally been forced to resign for gross incompetence? Had the few Death Eaters who had fled Hogsmeade after their master's death been caught? What was going to happen in the wizarding world now?

When the door opened, he sat up straighter in his bed, hoping for some conversation.

The words "careful what you wish for" crossed his mind when Dumbledore entered the hospital wing and headed to him, but he dismissed the thought. He and the Headmaster had had their differences, that much was true, and their relationship would never again be what it had been in Harry's first year, when he had watched the old man with wonder, finding in him the kind, compassionate, grand-fatherly figure he had sorely missed in his younger years.

He had actually asked the Headmaster, at the beginning of his sixth year, if that hadn't been a factor in his decision to leave Harry with the Dursleys. "Did you hope that I'd think of you like that?" he had asked. "The powerful wizard, who knew my parents, who got me out of Privet Drive? Did you want me to see you as my saviour? Did you think it would grant you my unwavering loyalty?"

The look of pain on Dumbledore's face had shamed Harry. He had truly wondered, and he now knew that the Headmaster was more adept at manipulation and plotting than he had thought, but such a reaction couldn't be faked. And Dumbledore had been truly hurt that Harry had wondered what his motives were. While part of Harry had felt gratified that the Headmaster had been hurt, another part had felt bad. And that part had won.

He didn't think Dumbledore was infallible anymore. He didn't think the man was all-knowing, all-powerful. And yes, Dumbledore didn't go out of his way to disabuse people of such notions. But Harry supposed this was the price to pay when you lead people. Dumbledore was, after all, a symbol. He was a sage, a rock to cling to when things got rough. He was someone the Ministry listened to for the most part. A leading figure of the fight against darkness. Something Harry had tried to avoid becoming. He had never asked the man if that role had been willingly assumed, or if it had been forced upon him. If he had once, like Harry, found the expectations too much to handle. He would ask, one day, he thought.

In the meantime, he smiled to the Headmaster. "Sir?"

"Ah, Harry. Good to see you awake."

Because it was tradition to complain when one was stuck in the hospital wing, Harry mumbled, "Wish I could say that it's good to be awake."

"But?"

"But I'm bored," he grumbled.

Dumbledore chuckled, looking at him with affection. "Ah, yes. I dare say you've seen enough of this room, yes?"

Harry nodded emphatically. "Yes."

"I don't think Madam Pomfrey plans to keep you here much longer."

"Good."

Dumbledore perched on the side of the bed. "How do you feel?" he asked, his face solemn.

Harry shrugged. "Fine. Tired."

"Yes. I suspect this will last a while."

"I know."

Dumbledore smiled. "I've said so before, but I think you were unconscious then. I'm very proud of you, Harry."

Harry marvelled that he was still able to bask in the man's praise. At the end of his fifth year, it had seemed impossible that Dumbledore's opinion would ever matter to him again. "Thanks," he whispered.

Dumbledore nodded. "I wanted I didn't know when to tell you this. It is bittersweet news, I'm afraid."

Harry swallowed. Curiously, Voldemort's death had revived his grief for Sirius. Had his godfather still been alive, he would have been free to move in with him, now. Sirius hadn't survived to see the demise of the man who had killed two of his best friends. Sirius would never again pat Harry on the shoulder, and plan pranks, and tell Harry to lighten up, that everything was going to be all right. "Pettigrew?" Harry said.

Dumbledore nodded. "He was caught yesterday and questioned under Veritaserum. Sirius's name has been exonerated." He plunged a hand in a pocket of his robes, and took out a rolled parchment, bearing a Ministry Seal. "His pardon."

Harry blinked to avoid crying, and took the parchment, not even bothering to read it. What could it say that he didn't already know? It was too little, too late.

Dumbledore and Harry stayed silent a moment, then Dumbledore said, "It was the last straw for our Minister."

He looked satisfied, and Harry looked up. "He resigned?"

"He didn't have a choice. He had already had a hard time explaining why it had taken him so long to believe you, when Voldemort returned. And why his Aurors were so ineffective against the Death Eaters. When the public learned that he had refused to listen to you and Sirius after he escaped, he didn't have much choice left. That an innocent man spent twelve years in Azkaban without a trial would have been bad enough. That the Minister tried to send him back there when there was a doubt about his innocence"

Harry sighed. "Yeah."

"I wish it could have been more, my boy," Dumbledore said.

Again, Harry blinked back tears. "Me too."

"There are parties in the planning," Dumbledore said, either to give Harry a chance to compose himself, or to bring the conversation back to more pleasant topics.

"Really?" The attempt at interest was half hearted at best, but Harry couldn't bring himself to truly care.

"A huge one, here at Hogwarts. Everyone is welcome. And I believe the Weasleys will attend, and take you back to the Burrow with them afterwards."

That was good news, indeed, and Harry smiled a little.

"This time around, you will be able to enjoy the parties," Dumbledore said, and Harry repressed a flinch.

"Yeah," he said, trying not to think that last time, he had been dumped on his relatives' doorstep and left to his own devices for ten years.

Dumbledore hung his head. "I don't think I can ever adequately apologize," he said, for what felt like the hundredth time since the talk that had followed Sirius's death.

Harry shrugged. "That's okay," he said, shoving the Dursleys out of his mind. They weren't here; he would never see them again. He wasn't going to let them spoil the moment. A moment he had hoped so much would come - Voldemort dead, and himself, still alive.

Dumbledore hesitated a moment. "There will be journalists."

Harry sighed. "What do they know?"

"The only persons present when Voldemort died were the two of us, and Moody. Pettigrew had already fled. Moody isn't going to say anything. I think it would be prudent to"

Harry bit his lip. "Gloss over some details?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Yes."

"I don't particularly want people to know he could possess me," Harry admitted. "They would never stop watching me - the Ministry, the other students. They already think I'm dangerous."

"I agree," Dumbledore said. "I think it would be best to say that I destroyed his body, and that he tried to flee it and possess you, in order to escape, using you as a vessel. That the same protection that had protected you as a baby worked again."

"In a way, it did," Harry said. "He weakened when I thought about my mum." For some reason, the memory brought tears to his eyes. His emotions were so raw since the battle that he had a hard time keeping them in control.

"Yes. As I said, your heart, Harry, is what saved you in the end - and all of us with you."

Harry shook his head. "But certainly, other people have a family they love, someone to protect - all these feelings Voldemort couldn't stand."

"Yes, but he couldn't have He didn't merely control you at a distance. Thanks to the scar he gave you, Harry, he had the ability to I think superimpose himself on you would be an adequate analogy."

Harry grimaced. "Gives, 'Getting into someone's head' a whole new meaning."

"Quite." Dumbledore took Harry's hand. "When his body was destroyed, he tried to use yours to escape, to live on. When you pushed him back, he became unable to jump to anyone else."

"How do we know his soul didn't survive? After all, he did survive his body's destruction before."

"I don't think it did, Harry. If it did, I don't think it would be coherent enough, to ever try anything else. After all this time dismissing emotions like compassion and love, seeing them as a weakness, I'm not surprised feeling them trough you was more than he could withstand."

Harry wasn't convinced.

"Think, Harry," Dumbledore said. "When you lost Sirius, you felt numb for a few weeks, then you began to feel again, and it hurt, didn't it?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Imagine having been through years of unfeeling, except for greed and thirst for power, and madness. Having all your emotions dumped on him would hurt even more, don't you think?"

"Can anyone really imagine that?" Harry asked.

"No, I don't think we can. So, Harry, I think that Voldemort's soul, for lack of a better term, was either destroyed by the shock, which is likely, or at the very least rendered insensible." Dumbledore looked at Harry gravely. "I was most worried about the effect on you. You were screaming when he finallywent."

Harry blushed slightly. "I feel fine," he said, not wanting to dwell on the pain. After the Ministry's battle, he had fervently hoped he would never feel anything like it again.

"For which we are all grateful."

"Yeah. Didn't didn't anyone else hear?"

"Moody, apart from making sure we wouldn't be disturbed by Death Eaters while we were disposing of their master, cast a silencing charm around us. Everyone was too busy to watch us, and no one heard."

"You knew Voldemort was going to-"

"No, I didn't. I feared he might, and we all know how the Ministry deals with that kind of thing."

"Yeah," Harry said. He thought a moment, then asked, "What about the prophecy?"

"What about it?"

"Well, it stated that I had the power to destroy him."

"Yes."

"But if he hadn't tried to kill me, if he hadn't created a link between us-"

"Then, you probably couldn't have done anything more than we could have," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling.

"So, he caused his own defeat?"

"Prophecies are often obscure, Harry. Trying to determine what event caused what other event is often impossible. It happened as it did."

Harry shook his head, unconvinced. "Goes to prove you should never trust prophecies, doesn't it?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Divination is an obscure branch of magic."

"No kidding."

They talked some more, and Harry drifted off to sleep as the headmaster was telling him how Ron had yelled at Madam Pomfrey when she had refused to let him see Harry the night following the battle.

--8888--

"Are you sure you're all right?" Hermione asked, for what felt like the ten thousandth time.

Once again, Harry reigned in his temper and answered, through gritted teeth, "Sure."

"Because we can-"

Harry snapped. "For God's sake, Hermione, I'm fine, I'm sure I'm fine, Madam Pomfrey wouldn't have let me out of her sight if I wasn't fine, I don't want to spend Christmas holed up in the bloody hospital wing, thank you very much, can we please go party now?" He was breathless when he stopped, Hermione was staring at him, wide-eyed, and Ron began to snigger.

"Come on, Hermione, you've been on his back since er, **that** day."

Hermione blushed, and nodded. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. "I'm sorry, Harry. It's just"

Harry didn't need her to continue. They had just had the fright of their lives when they had seen him in Hogsmeade, unconscious. He understood that, he really did. But he didn't want to dwell anymore on what had happened anymore.

Voldemort was dead - good riddance - and he knew the nightmares to come would be brutal. He'd had to grieve for his parents, for Sirius, for Cedric, all over again, in order to keep Voldemort out of his head. He'd had to remember his love for them, to make the monster suffer. The wounds were close to the surface again and he knew they'd take time to heal.

He needed the parties. He needed to see people in the streets, enjoying themselves, after living for three years in a climate of fear and tension, of constant alertness. He needed it to fully assimilate the fact that it was over, that he could begin to relax, that he could begin to focus solely on the problems of a seventeen year old boy. The NEWTs, for example. Not that Hermione would **ever**, **ever** know that he considered the NEWTs a welcome distraction.

Hermione still looked a little peeved at his outburst, and he smiled at her reassuringly. "S'okay. Really. I know you were scared. But really, sincerely, I'm feeling fine."

"You look tired," she said, almost shyly.

"I feel tired, but Madam Pomfrey said it was likely to last for a few weeks. Nothing to worry about. That's exactly was she said, actually. And I'm not going to worry."

His rambling brought a smile to Hermione's lips.

Ron changed the subject, to Harry's relief. He needed some space. "The feast here will be huge. With every student who wants to stay. And their parents, if they want to come."

Harry sighed. "I know. Professor McGonagall asked me to give a speech." He made a face. He hated speaking to crowds.

"What did you say?" Ron asked, smirking.

"What do you think? I said, 'Thanks, but no thanks'."

Hermione shook her head. "Honestly. You think she's going to let you get away with it?"

"I should hope so."

Hermione's smirk matched Ron's for a while. "Harry, you just defeated Voldemort. They're going to want a speech. Get used to it, and prepare something fast, before they put you on the spot."

Harry glared at her, defiant. "I will not give a speech. And that's final."

--8888--

A sea of faces looked at him, and while he couldn't see Hermione in the crowd, he just **knew** she was looking smug, probably wearing that "I-told-you-so" look that made her look so endearing - when it was directed at someone other than him, that is.

"Er. Well, I haven't prepared anything, so you'll forgive me if I make this brief," he improvised.

There were a few indulgent smiles here and there, and he swore to himself, once again, that he would never ignore Hermione's advice ever again.

"First, I'd like to say that I wouldn't be here without all the people who kept me alive all these years, Aurors, teachers, friends, and of course, the members of the Order."

He winced inwardly, wondering if he could sound more boring. It sounded like a TV award ceremony, he decided. He had watched enough of those as a kid.

This was going to be a long, long night, he thought, as he stumbled, searching for words.

--8888--

"I can't believe they made me," he grumbled, as soon as Dumbledore stopped the torture and allowed him to go back to his friends. He collapsed into an empty seat between the twins, not even noticing that this put him in an ideal position, should they plan to pull a prank on him. Which went to say just how perturbed he was.

He cheeks were flaming, and he wanted to disappear under the table. Snape had smirked disdainfully all the time he was talking, but at least, Harry hadn't made any embarrassing faux-pas. He hoped.

And the people in attendance had applauded politely, glad to have heard him, unsure as he was.

"What did you expect?" Ron asked. "You're the hero of the hour, mate."

He groaned.

"Ah, don't worry," George, or Fred, said from his left. 

"You'll always be little Harrykins to us!" Fred, or George, added from his right.

Harry smiled weakly. "Er, thanks, I think."

One of them patted him on the shoulder, and the other put a drink in his hand. Harry looked at Hermione, who shook her head adamantly. Mrs Weasley had watched the exchange, and yelled, "George! Fred! What are you trying to do to the poor boy?"

The twins looked as innocent as new-born babes, which settled it. They never looked innocent unless they were planning something. Harry put the drink down, while Mrs Weasley chastised the twins and the older Weasleys looked on with amusement.

Harry relaxed back in his chair, enjoying the show, as George, or Fred, tried to deny that they had planned anything.

"Honestly, Mum! This is our associate we're talking about," he said.

"Ah! As if that would stop you!" Mrs Weasley fumed. "Not **tonight** is all I ask."

"But any other day is fine," Bill threw in from his seat across Harry.

Harry snorted. "Yeah, well. I don't think she ever forgave me for giving them the funds to create their shop," he said quietly.

The twin that wasn't defending them against Mrs Weasley's tirade whispered, "We're grateful for three, man. In fact, we're grateful for ten." He poured another glass and handed it to Harry. "Prank free, this one," he said, sincerely.

At Harry's doubtful look, he said, seriously, "Honest."

Harry nodded, and drank.

The twin added, still in a whisper, "And, when you finish school, could you please come by the shop, so we can discuss er, business opportunities."

Harry almost spat out a mouthful of punch. Bill laughed. Thankfully, Mrs Weasley was still talking, and hadn't noticed.

Harry shook his head, amused.

This was going to be fun, he thought, as dinner appeared on the tables.

--8888--

"So, are you having fun?" Hermione asked, her hands around Harry's neck, as they danced among other couples.

Well, dancing was a bit generous, Harry thought. They were spinning in circles together. Slowly.

"Yeah," he said, unconvinced.

She smiled gently. "You seemed more enthusiastic a few hours ago."

He shrugged. "I'm not sure what I was expecting," he admitted.

Hermione looked around them. "They all seem pretty calm, around here," she said. "I'm sure that outside, people are hysterical with relief and are making fools of themselves."

"Your point being?"

She smiled. "That I'm not sure anyone realises it's over yet. It's only been a few days, after all. I read papers, about last time. The parties, the fireworks, the joy people felt. I think they were mostly venting. As they are now. I think they'll only realise that it's really safe later."

"Then why aren't people here ecstatic?"

"Because many of them were in the Order, or work at the Ministry, and they're exhausted. The ones who aren't don't dare be too overt here."

That made some kind of sense, Harry supposed. He did feel like he was missing something, though. He felt as if he had been cheated of something. Hermione must have felt this.

"It's not just you," she repeated. "It's such a huge adjustment. It's kind of funny in a way."

"Funny?"

"Okay, not funny so much as interesting. That way people were so quick to become paranoid again, trying to protect themselves. And how long it takes them to make the reverse adjustment. I mean, years later, they still don't say Voldemort's name."

He had never thought about it, but it made some kind of sense.

It still felt vaguely unfair, that he couldn't truly relax, but he would have to make do, he thought.

Then, to his relief, the song ended, and Ron came to claim back his girlfriend. Harry went back to his table, begging off the next few songs, using tiredness as an excuse to sit back and watch. As he observed people, he came to the conclusion that Hermione was right. People seemed tense and jumpy, still, and Harry wondered how long it would take for them to adjust.

--8888--

Hours later, the entire Weasley clan, minus Percy, but with Hermione and Harry, stumbled through the fireplace of the Burrow, some landing more gracefully than the others.

Floo travel would definitely never be his favourite method of transport, Harry thought, picking himself up off the floor, under the amused gazes of the twins.

"Not a word," Harry grumbled good naturedly.

"Yes, Oh Saviour Of All That Is Good," a twin intoned.

"We wouldn't want to incur your wrath, Oh Blessed Protector Of This World And All The Others," the other one added.

"Not as catchy as Boy-Who-Lived," Bill said laughing. "Think you'll be stuck with that one for a while."

Harry bit his lip, torn between laughter and panic. Really, the deference some people treated him with was becoming a bit much. It was as if he was made of glass, or as if everything he said was The Truth. He couldn't wait for life to resume its normal course.

And he also couldn't wait to collapse into a bed. He may have been discharged from Madam Pomfrey's care, but he still tired easily, and the feast had been sumptuous, long and exhausting. He could barely stand at the end, and he didn't think it was only due to the twins' 'additions' to the supposedly alcohol free punch. "Prank-free," Fred had explained at some point, with Mrs Weasley safely out of earshot, "doesn't mean alcohol-free, or fun-free." Harry hoped Ron and Hermione had prevented him from making a fool of himself in front of the press, but given the way the two swayed right now, he wouldn't bet on that.

"_Please, don't let there be pictures_," he thought.

Charlie, the last Weasley to Floo back, promptly collapsed in a chair. "That was some party," he said.

Mrs Weasley smiled at the exhausted people crowding her house. "But we had waited long enough for such a party," she said, her eyes filling with tears.

Most men seemed at a loss, but Harry still remembered the form her Boggart at taken at Grimmauld Place, before the war really began. "It'll be a miracle if we all come through this," she had said. But all the Weasleys were still there, exasperating her, and Harry, too, was grateful that his favourite family was intact. Even though Percy still hadn't manifested any interest in coming home, the family had survived, and Harry thought fiercely that at least they were safe now.

Arthur walked to Molly and took her in his arms, motioning for the children to make themselves scarce. They went upstairs, Ron leading Harry to his room, under the roof. Harry slipped under the covers without discussion. He fell asleep before his head had even hit the pillow.


	2. Chapter 2 : Back to Normal

**A Thousand Fibres  
**  
Helen C.

_Rating : PG-13_

Summary : After Voldemort's defeat, Harry finds himself finally free to do what he wants. Now, if only he knew what he wants...  
  
_Spoilers : All five books are fair game._

Disclaimer : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Acknowledgements : Many thanks to Emily, who beta'd this and to Sharon, for her help on the first chapter.  


* * *

_Chapter Two : Back to Normal  
_

The holidays flew by. Almost every day, the _Daily Prophet_ reported the huge parties, the commemoration ceremonies and the gatherings that took place everywhere in Britain. Dumbledore had fire called to ask Harry if he wanted to attend some of these ceremonies. Harry didn't think he had managed to hide his horror at the thought. He was comfortable at the Burrow with his friends, and while he was glad to see that people were rejoicing, he had no intention of joining them. Joining them would mean having to answer questions, and he didn't feel up to that yet.

Mrs Weasley told him that spells had been placed on the Burrow, keeping owls from well wishers away - as well, Harry supposed, as owls from people who did **not** want to congratulate him on having freed the world from Voldemort. Not everyone had been opposed to him, after all.

"You'll probably be asked what you want to do with all those letters," Mrs Weasley said. "Once things settle down, that is."

"I guess ignoring them isn't going to be an option?" he asked hopefully. He sighed at her sympathetic look. "Yeah, I know."

Still, the days Harry spent at the Burrow, surrounded by his friends and by the people he considered his closest family, were the happiest he could remember in a while.

The Dursleys sent him an empty biscuit box, which arrived three days after Christmas. Harry supposed they must have found it hilarious. He merely wondered where their pettiness ended. He sent them a note thanking them for their "gift." He added in a post-script that he wouldn't come back at the end of the year, "_the wizard who murdered my parents having been defeated. Just thought you would like to know, Aunt Petunia_." 

Hadn't the woman felt **anything** when she had learned that Voldemort had risen again? Nothing but fear for the two people in the world she seemed to love? Nothing at the thought that the monster who had killed her sister was back? To Harry, who had longed for a family for years, this indifference was unfathomable. Still, he refrained from insulting them, and thought that was a pretty big achievement under the circumstances.

--8888--

Lupin joined the Weasleys on New Year's day and spent a while with Harry, talking about trivial things - after all the serious, emotional discussions they had had in the past, Harry enjoyed this opportunity to indulge in inane chit chat.

"I swear, Moody is getting worse by the day," Lupin was saying, as he and Harry drank a cup of hot chocolate in the kitchen.

Harry laughed. "What did he do now?"

"He may have serious reasons to be distrustful, but surely, grilling me for twenty minutes about my school years is pushing it?"

In a way, it was then that Harry truly realised that Voldemort was gone, that he needn't worry about life and death questions anymore.

He had had informal talks with Lupin before. But these talks had never been carefree. They had often followed or preceded a more serious discussion about the war, or about Harry's problems.

This single moment, when they could laugh about Moody's paranoia instead of adopting some of the man's habit for survival, was what drove it home.

"Harry? Is everything all right?" Lupin asked.

Harry nodded. "I just realised. It's over." When no reaction was forthcoming, he looked at the older man. "Isn't it?"

Lupin shook himself and wrapped Harry in a hug. "Yes, Harry, it's over."

Harry laughed shakily. "Sorry. I thought the parties would do the trick, you know. That I would see the people having fun, and it would"

"Yes?"

"It didn't. I didn't understand why it hadn't."

"It's often the small things that make us see the larger picture," Lupin said.

They stayed like that a moment, until Fred (who was wearing one of Mrs Weasley's infamous home-made jumper with a huge 'F' on it), entered the kitchen, saw them, goggled and said in a suggestive tone, "Sorry to interrupt."

Lupin laughed.

Harry yelled, "Ew!" and stepped away from him.

Fred snickered. "I'll leave you to your forbidden love."

Harry blushed. The door closed on Fred, and Lupin smiled. "Okay?" he asked.

"Yeah. I just" He trailed off.

"It'll take a while to adjust."

"No one else seems to have a problem," Harry pointed out.

Lupin shook his head. "Arthur watches over everyone as if they would all get hurt if he stopped being watchful. Molly rushed upstairs a few times, and I'm reasonably sure she was thanking Merlin that everyone is safe. I don't think you understand just how worried she was about you. Knowing what you had to do."

Harry stared at his hands.

"Ron, Hermione and Ginny seem ready to grab their wands at the slightest opportunity."

"I didn't notice all that," Harry said.

"Because you're so used to it."

"Oh."

"It'll get better. With time."

"Did it, last time?" Harry asked.

A flash of sadness flickered on Lupin's face, and Harry remembered. Last time, the man had been grieving the loss of his friends, and dealing with Sirius's apparent betrayal. He tried to imagine what he would feel like if he had lost Hermione, and Ron. Unable to even think about it, he stepped forward and hugged Lupin impulsively. "Sorry," he said.

The door opened, and Fred asked, "Are you fini - Oh, get a room, already!"

Lupin shook with laughter.

"Yipes," George voice added, and again, the door closed.

"Nothing can get these two down," Lupin marvelled.

Harry nodded, thinking that it was a good thing, under the circumstances.

--8888--

The day before classes started, Harry took the Hogwarts Express with Ron, Hermione and Ginny.

Everyone seemed to want to talk to Harry, thank him for finishing Voldemort off, comment his speech at the feast, ask him what he planned to do with his life now, and what were Gryffindor's chances of winning the House cup, and would Dumbledore award him points for killing He-Who-Must-Not, er, that is, Voldemort?

By the time the train reached Hogwarts, Harry was ready to throw himself out the nearest window, and Ron was patting him on the back - Harry supposed it was meant to be comforting, but it just grated on his nerves.

"It'll all die down in a while," Hermione said.

Harry forced a smile. "Yeah."

"Soon, they'll revile you again," she added.

Harry snorted. "Thanks! You could always say the right thing!"

"Anytime," she said, patting his knee.

--8888--

By the end of the first week of classes, the hubbub was finally beginning to die down - and then only because Harry had snapped at some of the people who had tried, once again, to make him tell the story of the Hogsmeade Battle.

At least, Potions class was sure to be familiar, Harry thought as he headed toward the dungeons. Snape had never considered him "special." Harry felt confident that it wouldn't change over something as trivial as the end of the war.

Sure enough, Gryffindor lost ten points within two minutes. Harry had been detained by an admirer who wanted to assure him of his indefectible loyalty and barely made it to the classroom in time.

"_Loyal until the next hysteria crisis,_" he thought bitterly as he took his seat.

"Five points from Gryffindor for your tardiness, Mister Potter," Snape said.

Harry could have pointed out that he had entered the room literally on the teacher's heels, but six years of experience had taught him the futility of trying to argue with Snape.

"Yes, sir," he said instead.

"And five more points for your cheek," Snape added. "Being considered a hero by a horde of bleating sheep does not make you special, Mister Potter."

Harry sighed (inwardly, so as not to cost his House more points for breathing too loud) and braced himself.

The snide comments went on, and on, during class, from "Did your exploits drain whatever brain you had left from your head, Mister Potter?" to "Pathetic attempt at a concealing potion, Mister Potter."

Harry had to admit, the man knew how to hold a grudge.

"But, sir, his potion doesn't seem off," Neville said.

There was a long pause - no one moved, no one spoke, and those who had been looking down didn't raise their heads as the world stopped spinning for a few seconds.

Neville Longbottom, bane of the dungeons, favourite victim of Professor Snape, all years included, had spoken up. In defence of someone.

"Are you a Potions expert, Mister Longbottom?" Snape spat, his opinion on the matter clear. That Neville had earned an Exceed Expectations on his Potions OWLs and been allowed by Dumbledore to take the NEWTs class had rendered Snape even more vindictive.

"Well, no sir, but it looks like the book said it should."

No one breathed in the classroom. The incident in the Hogwarts Express, in their sixth year, had done a lot to rid Neville from his shyness, but Snape had remained his personal demon - his boggart. Harry was torn between admiration for Neville, irritation at the other boy's obstinacy, a strong and inexplicable urge to bang his head on the desk, and some joy at seeing someone stand up for him, doomed to failure as the attempt was.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor for your presumption."

Neville opened his mouth. Harry caught his eyes and shook his head, silently begging the other boy to stop before Snape truly lost it.

Neville got the message, and Snape went on on his round, disparaging Gryffindor's students and praising Slytherins.

"_Some things never change_," Harry thought. Then he watched Neville, taking notes from the blackboard, and amended, "_And then, some do_."

--8888--

That evening, every Gryffindor in seventh year congratulated Neville.

"I don't understand," Neville said, blushing, as Dean and Seamus walked away. "I didn't, well, win the argument."

Hermione and Ron were sitting across Harry and him, their books taking all the space on the table between them. They were whispering and smiling at each other. Harry wished he could be as disgusted by the display as Ginny pretended to be.

Ron and Hermione had become a couple during sixth year. They had been self conscious around Harry at first, and Harry had felt a little useless in that new version of their little group. For a while, they had kept their distance, while they figured out where they fit in each other's lives. Now, Harry sometimes said laughingly, "They'll be the first ones to marry in our year. Assuming they don't kill each other first, naturally."

For now, Hermione and Ron were completely absorbed with each other, which allowed Neville and Harry to talk in peace.

"No one can win an argument with Snape, you know that," Harry said.

"Well, yes, but-"

"It was a very brave thing you did," Harry said, meaning it.

Like everyone else, he constantly underestimated Neville. Then, sometimes, Neville showed why the Hat had put him in a lion's house. Neville had, at fifteen, followed Harry into a place where he knew he would have to fight Death Eaters. Neville had stood up to Harry and his friends, Boy-Who-Lived or not, in their first year. Neville had struggled to keep up with the rest of the class for seven years without giving up.

Neville chose his battles, but fought them to the end.

"Not that brave," Neville said.

"Snape has ridiculed you every chance he got since our first year, and as a fellow victim from the man's wrath, I know what it takes to go back to the classroom and try to learn something."

"I only" Neville gestured vaguely.

"Only stood up to the meanest teacher of the school," Harry finished, smiling.

Neville bit his lip. "I think I did it mostly for me," he admitted.

"And you think that makes it less courageous?" Harry asked.

Neville looked at him, surprised. "But"

Harry checked that no one was listening. "Neville, I only killed Voldemort for me. That it saved the world and all that was an added bonus, and that's wonderful, don't get me wrong, but In the end, it was him or me, and I chose me."

Neville was staring, wide eyed. "Really?"

"Really. Courage comes in many forms." A yawn dispelled the seriousness of the statement, and Harry stretched. "I'm beat," he said. He rose, Ron and Hermione still oblivious to what was happening around them. "I'm going to bed," he added.

Neville looked at the two lovers, and snickered. "Yeah. 'Night."

"You too."

--8888--

_He had a bad feeling._

Harry was playing exploding snap with Susan Bones, Colin and Neville, while Hermione and Ron patrolled the train, keeping an eye on the younger students. By luck, they had found a fairly deserted part of the train to sit. Most of the students had gathered in cramped quarters to talk about the upcoming holiday. Perhaps that was why Harry was edgy, he thought. It was a lot quieter than it usually was, near the driver's carriage.

Still, he couldn't shake that feeling of foreboding.

The train ride had been uneventful until now, but the students had seemed quieter than usual when they had boarded the train in Hogsmeade. Perhaps, Harry reflected, that also explained why they had all stayed in the carriages in the middle of the train, instead of taking up as much space as they could. Being together probably reassured them.

That was understandable. The Death Eaters had been restless all year, and even though Hogwarts was isolated, the Daily Prophet _reported the attacks, and everyone read it at Hogwarts now. Information was important, they had all learned. You needed to know what was waiting for you outside to prepare for it._

"Constant vigilance, and all that," Ron often said.

At that point of Harry's thoughts, there was a deafening screeching noise, of metal against metal, and suddenly everything was spinning, luggage colliding with limbs, cards flying everywhere.

Then, darkness.

After an indefinite time, Harry woke up, startled by the silence. Hadn't there been screams, just a moment before? Then there was a voice, _**her**__ voice, taunting. "That's how your parents lost their minds. Hadn't you wanted to know what it felt like?"_

Harry opened his eyes. He couldn't recognise where he was, and he fought a feeling of panic. It took him a moment to realise that the reason everything seemed out of perspective was because the carriage had been turned upside down. Colin was sprawled on the roof, that was now the floor, his neck forming an unnatural angle with the rest of his body, his eyes open.

To avoid looking at him too long, Harry scanned the space. Susan was sitting, propped up against a wall, Petrified.

They were alone in the compartment. Well, alone, with Neville, and a raging psychopath, who had killed his godfather, and tortured the Longbottoms into insanity.

Typical.

"Ah, awake at last," Bellatrix said. She was standing right next to him, her wand trained on Neville, who was sprawled on the floor, tears streaming down his face. Harry tried to lean on an elbow, which proved to be a mistake, as she kicked him in the ribs. Hard. "I didn't tell you to move, now, did I?" she asked. "I'll lead you to my master soon." Her smile was frightening. Harry raised his eyes, met hers, and was surprised at the total lack of humanity in them. It wasn't as if he hadn't known she was deranged. But being here with her, alone with defenceless classmates, still disoriented - he suspected he had hit his head hard in the derail - drove it home. She was insane. Not just, "she was so very mad to join the Death Eaters" but "clinically unstable" insane.

And they were alone with her.

"For now, however, I'll teach you a little lesson," she said. "For what you did last year. There can be no forgiveness for failure to perform a spell."

Harry wanted to scream. No forgiveness? _**She**__ had killed Sirius._

His eyes fell on Susan, and he made an effort to remain calm.

Shouting wouldn't accomplish anything.

"You defied the Dark Lord," she said, as if such a thing was unconceivable. She pointed her wand at Harry. "Crucio."

Harry woke up again later, aching all over. Neville's anguished screams blared out in the compartment. Harry briefly wondered what had happened, then it came back to him. Apparently, mixing the cruciatus with a concussion wasn't such a good idea, he thought wryly. And why the hell hadn't anyone come to the rescue, yet?

As if she had read his mind, Bellatrix said, "Well, we don't have much more time." Neville gave a half-sob.

Frantically, Harry looked around for his wand. He couldn't feel it in his back pocket. If Bellatrix had secured it, it would be very bad indeed. But if she had just put it aside

Susan met his eyes, and she rolled her eyes, pointing as well was she could to her left. He saw them - four wands. Near Bellatrix's feet. One of them was snapped. Colin's, or Susan's. The other three seemed fine. If he could only reach them

Bellatrix said to Neville, who was sobbing on the floor, "I'll let you ponder on that. Until next time." She rounded on Harry, and said, "My Lord said He was to play with you. Stupefy."

And, again, Harry fell into the darkness.

He woke up abruptly, and again, heard screams. What was taking so damn long for the cavalry to arrive? And - not that he was complaining - why was he still there, instead of with Voldemort?

He heard a hiss and turned his head, slowly. Neville was lying on the floor, holding his wand between two fingers. Harry realised he must have enervated him. Bellatrix was focussed on Susan, so Harry moved his hand, trying not to catch her peripheral vision, slowly, very slowly. He had his fingers on his wand when Bellatrix said, dangerously, "Did I give you permission to take that? Cru-"

Neville and Harry reacted fast, upon hearing the word. They both shouted "Expelliarmus!" at the same time, pointing their wands to Bellatrix. She flew backwards, and there was a sinister crack as she collided with the wall.

Her eyes expressed all her surprise, and she said, "How could you-" before slumping on the floor. 

Harry awoke with a gasp. He could still, months later, hear the noise her bones had made when she had crashed against the wall.

He waited for his heart to stop thumping in his chest, and tried to catch his breath. His covers had been thrown off the bed, and his pyjamas and hair were sweaty and clung to his skin. He grimaced and felt around for his wand.

He heard a whispered, "Harry?" coming from Neville's bed.

"I'm fine," he said softly. His fingers found his wand, he pointed it at himself and muttered a cleaning spell.

"Yes?" Neville asked again.

"Yeah. Thanks."

He heard a rustle of fabric, and all was silence again.

He knew from experience that he wouldn't sleep anymore. He got out of bed, grabbed a book in the dark and exited the room.

In the common room, the fire sprang to life when he settled on the couch in front of it. Dobby always seemed to know when Harry's nightmares kept him up.

Harry glanced at the book he had taken.

His Potions textbook.

"_Figures_," he thought.

He set it aside, curled up on the couch, hugging his knees to his chest.

He should have known that particular nightmare would come back to haunt him tonight. It had been hovering at the edge of his consciousness all evening, as Neville was being praised.

The first time he had killed - not "just" been indirectly responsible for a death.

The rest of that night never featured in his nightmares. It always stopped at Bellatrix's death.

The memories, however, didn't stop there.

_Harry didn't need to check to see that Bellatrix was dead. Such immobility could only mean one thing._

He took off the body bind Bellatrix had cast on Susan. "Hey," he said softly.

Susan swallowed, sniffed.

"Do you know why we're still here?" Harry asked, handing her her wand.

"It hasn't been long, I think," Neville said. "Ten minutes at most."

Susan added, "And I heard battle sounds from outs-" Her eyes grew big, and she pointed her wand above Harry's shoulder. "Petrify!" she screamed. There was a bump, and Harry turned to see a Death Eater fall on the ground, his wand still in his hand.

He looked at him, then at Susan. "Thanks," he said.

She looked rather stunned herself. She nodded absently.

"Let's - " Harry said.

"- move," Neville finished with him, nodding earnestly.

They cast a body bind on the Death Eater, then Harry took his mask. When the others looked at him as if he had lost his mind, he said, "Just in case it's someone we don't know about, and he escapes." It was merely Avery, though.

They transfigured luggage into a ladder, cautiously avoiding looking in Colin's direction.

Once outside, they understood why help hadn't come yet. In every direction, Harry could see carriages upturned, broken glass and metal shards, students either running or lying on the ground. There were Death Eaters too, fighting with Aurors and Hogwarts teachers.

They were found by Professor Snape, only two minutes after their exit from the train. Snape opened his mouth, and even in his dazed state, Harry braced himself for the cutting remarks his teacher would certainly throw his way.

Snape, however, took one look at the three of them and closed his mouth. Harry deduced he must look as pathetic as he felt. His head was pounding viciously, his vision was blurry and his legs felt like rubber. Neville and Susan weren't in much better shape. The three were leaning on each other for support.

Snape had a Portkey to Hogwarts. They all put one finger on it and he said, "Sanctuary." They found themselves in the Headmaster's office. Harry bit back a wave of nausea - he hated Portkey travel in the best circumstances. This night didn't qualify as best circumstances. He stayed awake long enough to ask about Hermione and Ron, who hadn't been found yet. Then, the room began to spin.

He was vaguely aware of Snape's arms stopping his fall, then nothing.

He woke up two days later, to learn that Ron and Hermione had survived, that ten students had died, either in the crash or because of the Death Eaters. Harry had a hairline skull fracture, and the after effects of the cruciatus to contend with.

And new nightmares to add to his ever growing collection, of course.

Dumbledore had come see him, later in the day. "I know it is important for you, so I will tell you that, according to the Death Eaters we captured and questioned, you weren't the primary target of the attack," he had said.

Harry felt slightly better. He would have hated to learn that people had died just because Voldemort had wanted another go at him.

He and Dumbledore discussed the battle and its aftermath for a little while, then the Headmaster let him rest.

Two days later, a memorial service was held at Hogwarts, for the surviving students and their parents. Then, Harry got back to the Dursleys, for yet another summer of imprisonment.

Thinking back about it, he was fairly certain he had dreamed about Bellatrix every night of the summer.  


--8888--

When Hermione awoke Harry, the sun was rising.

"You slept here?" she asked, sounding like a concerned mother.

"Not all night," he said.

She nodded, and sat on the table in front of him. "Are you all right?" she asked.

"Old nightmares," he said, smiling.

"Bellatrix?"

He nodded.

"It changed you," she said.

"Did it?"

She looked sad. "You were more serious after that. More focussed."

Harry shrugged, not knowing what to say. When Hermione looked up, her face was set. "I'm glad it's all over," she said, leaning over and squeezing his arm.

"Me too."

"I'm glad you can have a normal life, now."

"Or as normal as Hogwarts can provide," he said jokingly.

"There is that"

They both giggled.

"I should go upstairs," Harry said. "Try to sleep some more."

She nodded. "Yeah."

"Thank God for Saturdays," Harry added.

He felt her eyes following him as he made his way up the stairs.


	3. Chapter 3 : Career's Advice

**A Thousand Fibres  
**  
Helen C.

_Rating : PG-13_

Summary : After Voldemort's defeat, Harry finds himself finally free to do what he wants. Now, if only he knew what he wants...

Spoilers : All five books are fair game.

Disclaimer : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Acknowledgements : Many thanks to Emily, who beta'd this and to Sharon, for her help on the first chapter.  


* * *

_Chapter Three : Career's Advice  
_

The parchment was stuck up on the board of the common room when the team came back from Quidditch practice, a late evening. The seventh year students who wished to discuss their career plans, or who needed some more help to choose or obtain a job, were asked to make an appointment with their Head of House before the Easter Break.

Harry suppressed a panicked memory of Umbridge, taking notes behind him, "hem hemming" her way through his interview during his fifth year. He had met more unpleasant people than Umbridge, but the woman made a lasting impression on her preys. He had to give her that - if nothing else.

He shook his head. Professor McGonagall had defended him then. She had promised him that he would enter the Auror program if he wished to. And his grades were good enough for that - Harry had thrown himself into his studies in the summer following fifth year. Lots of things had changed with the battle at the Ministry. Harry had had to come to terms with so many unpleasant things then. Studying had kept his mind busy and had reassured him a little. As long as he was studying, he was becoming better at magic. Everything new he learned was a step toward victory - toward survival. Ron had teased him more than once about his Hermione-like obsession for learning. Harry had shrugged off the teasing and kept on studying, occasionally letting Ron distract him to take part in some entertaining activity. "You need to relax too," Ron had pointed out. "There's no point in making your bloody head explode with information."

Harry supposed he should go see his Head of House to ask what kind of steps he needed to take. He didn't have a parent who could take care of that for him. He didn't doubt the Weasleys could, if he asked them, but he didn't like to take much of their time. They had done so much for him already, and they had Ron and Ginny to take care of.

"Still going to enter the Auror program?" Neville asked, startling him.

Harry nodded, ignoring the growing uneasy feeling the notion provoked in him.

It had begun after the winter holidays - sometimes, he would envision himself as an Auror, and instead of the pride or the envy such daydreams had always inspired in him, he felt vaguely trapped would be a good word for it, he decided.

He supposed everyone went through that. It was a big change in their lives, after all. They were leaving school, beginning a career and a new life. All the seventh year students had doubts, whether they voiced them or not.

The uneasiness would fade with time, he hoped. He had never really had a chance to think about his future, to picture himself doing grownup things - having a job, a place of his own. He had been too focussed on the present, on surviving the school year, to think much about his future.

Now that the future was there, he would just need to adjust.

He had had to adjust to bigger changes before, after all.

--8888--

"So, do you think you'll be accepted as Auror?" Neville asked, almost shyly, the following evening.

Since Bellatrix's death, Neville always seemed shy when talking to Harry about his plans for the future. Sometimes, Harry wondered whether this was because the Longbottoms had been Aurors, or if it was because of the shared guilt he and Neville had felt when Bellatrix had died.

They had never known which of their wands had been responsible for the woman's death. The Aurors had decided that it was the violent impact caused by the combination of the two spells that had killed her. So, they had **both** killed her, and it seemed very fitting to Harry, and possibly also to Neville.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know."

"Don't be ridiculous," Hermione threw in, from the chair across him. She was scribbling furiously on her parchment, a book opened in front of her. A view so familiar Harry couldn't believe that soon, he wouldn't see her work like that, every day.

"_Good God, seven years_," he thought. Seven years of friendship, of living together, studying together, eating together, fighting and laughing together.

And soon, they would go their separate ways, and not live under the same roof anymore.

"After all, if **Harry** isn't allowed in, I don't know who will be," Ginny concurred.

"There's history between the Ministry and me," Harry pointed out, a little awed at the blind faith they seemed to have regarding his future.

Too bad he couldn't be as sure as they were.

"But the people who hated your guts are gone now," Ron said. "Dad says you won't have any trouble. Minister Bones likes you, and you saved her niece's life, remember."

Harry frowned a little. "She saved mine, too," he pointed out.

"Still," said Hermione, "You'll be taken. I really wouldn't worry about it."

At that point of the discussion, Dean, who had been sitting nearby, began to swear and ran from the room. They could hear him yell, "I'm late, she's going to kill me!"

Hermione shook her head disapprovingly, and went back to her book. Ron moaned, "And I still don't have definite plans."

"I thought you wanted to work for Tom at the Leaky Cauldron, until you decided what you wanted to do?" Harry said. At least, that was what Ron had told him last time they had discussed it.

"Yes, but it wasn't supposed to come to that."

"Meaning?"

"I was sure I'd have a plan by now, so I could gracefully back out of the deal, and, you know, work on something else. Find a real career."

"I'm sorry, I can't help you there," Harry said. "I really have no idea what kind of work a wizard does. Aside from what I saw in your family, but-"

"But I don't want to become another one of my brothers," Ron finished.

Harry nodded that he understood. And he did, in a way. He wouldn't have wanted to walk in anybody's footsteps either, in Ron's place.

Still "If I may just say one thing?" he said, aware of Ron's rather volatile temper whenever his family was mentioned.

Ron grunted.

"Don't rule out their work just because they do it?" Harry said. "I mean, if one of them does something you really want to do too, it would be sad to waste an opportunity, you know?"

Ron looked startled, then shrugged. "But I don't think I'd like any of their jobs," he said.

"That settles that," Harry admitted, a little unsure. More than once, he had seen Ron look envious of Bill's tales of his job. Hermione's eyes met his, and he knew they were thinking about the same thing. Ron needed financial security. It would probably be a huge factor in his decision process. And the possibilities offered by Gringotts were very interesting, if one had the abilities needed.

Once Ron was focussed on his own assignment, Hermione smiled at Harry, and he had the feeling that she wouldn't rest until she had convinced Ron to work for the bank.

The rest of the evening passed in a companionable silence. For once, it was only the three of them. Harry enjoyed his friends' company. More often than not, now, he feared disturbing Ron and Hermione during a private moment. He knew they wanted time alone, and he didn't want to begrudge them of that. It had become rare to see the three of them gathered around a table in the common room.

Harry smiled. These were the moments he wanted to remember later. Comfortably settled in the common room, surrounded by books and notes (okay, he could gladly have skipped the books and the notes bit), all of them working to reach the same goal (survive the NEWTs), asking questions and answering them in turns, laughing and helping each other out.

This was what he wanted to keep from Hogwarts.

--8888--

Harry didn't know what to expect from his meeting with Professor McGonagall. It was supposed to be a moment to facilitate the transition from student to worker, Hermione had said. Their Head of House would help with the administrative tasks required to enter an apprenticeship, or to fill in the paperwork to apply for certain jobs.

It rankled that everyone was so full of projects - from holiday plans to work opportunities.

Not that he hadn't received offers, but they all seemed half-hearted. It was public knowledge that he planned to become an Auror, so Harry supposed that all these job offers were just a way of saying, "We know you'll never work for us, but we just thought we'd ask anyway." Nothing had really stuck his fancy - train Trolls, for crying out loud - and so, here he was, sitting in front of Professor McGonagall as she peered at his results.

"Well, Mr Potter, I'm sure you'll do well enough on your NEWTs to enter the Auror program - assuming that is still what you wish to do?"

He forced a smile. The uneasiness hadn't relented a bit at the thought of his future, but what could he say? It was not as if he had any back up plan.

"Er," he said, and Professor McGonagall took it as an agreement.

"Good," she said.

He frowned inwardly. It was too bad, he reflected, that he couldn't really talk to his Head of House about anything - and certainly not about something so vague he couldn't even explain it to himself. Not that he didn't trust her, but she just didn't seem very receptive. He never really felt listened to when he spoke with her.

Besides, there was still that promise she had made to him, during the disaster that had been his fifth year.

He didn't want to disappoint her - he didn't want to disappoint anyone.

Professor McGonagall smiled and handed him a stack of parchments. "Here are the forms you need to fill to enter the Auror program. Send them to the Ministry when you have completed them, and they'll contact you."

Harry swallowed, heart in his throat. "Thanks, Professor."

He tried to smile, the uneasiness as strong as it had ever been, and got up.

"Do come see me if you need help filling these in," she advised as he reached for the door handle.

"Yeah. Thanks," he repeated, and fled the office.

--8888--

Harry spent the rest of his day flying on the deserted Quidditch pitch, trying breathtaking manoeuvres in an effort to keep his mind off his current problems.

It was all a little ridiculous, he thought.

He had faced Dementors, and Voldemort, and that part of his life was over. Professor Dumbledore seemed content to let him live his life as he wished. Voldemort couldn't control his life anymore - no more hiding, no more secrecy and no more fighting.

Then why did he feel so trapped?

Why did he feel like he was engaging on a road where he would only meet trouble?

He had wanted that. It was a prestigious job, someone had to do it, he would certainly be good at it, and he admired a lot of the Aurors he knew.

Doubting was normal, he reminded himself. He was leaving the familiar territory of Hogwarts to go into the world. Everyone would be nervous - in fact, pretty much everyone was nervous.

He landed, dismounted his broom, still as unsure, but tired enough that he was guaranteed to sleep anyway.

He took a shower and went back to the Tower.

--8888--

_He was crouching behind bushes, spying on two wizards. They were speaking in hushed tones, and Harry couldn't hear what they were saying. It was unnerving. His partner - a tall, tanned man - gestured for Harry to remain where he was, and walked silently nearer the two wizards._

Harry clutched his wand, ready for a fight, should one arise.

He was so focused on the two men and his partner, that he didn't hear the man creeping behind him until it was too late. The cold metal against his throat was the first sign he got that something was very wrong.

"Hush," a male voice said.

Harry didn't dare move, or give a sign to show he had understood.

The man behind him reached over, took his wand from his slack hand, and dragged him backwards.  
  
_Then, everything turned to hell. One of the two wizards Harry had been spying on caught the movement, and curses began to fly, from behind him, from the two wizards, from his partner. The rest of the fight was a blur to him, too rushed to fully comprehend._

All he knew was that it had taken two minutes for the situation to deteriorate, and go from a routine assignment to a life and death situation. Now, his partner was dead, his unseeing eyes open, the bodies of three dark wizards laying around them.  


Again, Harry awoke with a gasp.

--8888--

Harry spent the rest of the week in a daze, not even registering the usual sneers from the Slytherins when he stumbled in DADA class and narrowly missed being hit with a stunner. Really, after seven years, their insults had become old. Couldn't they find anything new? Were they as bored as he was with this show?

Even Snape, towering and sneering above Harry's seat - say what you will about the man, he at least kept renewing his stock of insults - failed to bring him out of his distracted state.

All he could see was the dead face of a man he didn't know, a man who probably didn't even exist.

Harry was sufficiently self aware to know that that nightmare was just a way of showing him that he was scared of the future, scared to screw up and cause people to die, scared to kill again.

Each time Hermione asked him if he had filled the paperwork yet, he felt a ball of something unpleasant in the pit of his stomach. Each time he looked at the parchments, he felt an urge to run away screaming - or at the very least to burn them and ignore the problem for a while. He could, at best, answer two questions at a time. Then he gave up and put the forms aside, picking them up the next day to answer a couple more questions.

"Procrastinating again?" Hermione asked tartly, one evening, as she entered the common room, holding Ron's hand.

Harry shrugged. "No, I filled the form in," he answered, a little defensively. "I just need to sign it."

"Harry, they won't reject you, if that's what you're worried about," she said.

Harry shook his head. "I know."

"Then what the hell?" Ron interjected. "It's a great job, and everyone knows you'll be good at it."

Harry sighed inwardly. Why, why was everyone so sure that becoming an Auror was what he was meant to do? He had only mentioned the possibility to Professor McGonagall because he needed to say something. And yes, he knew Aurors who were cool, and gifted, and good in a fight. Still, did it mean he was made for that job?

Hermione and Ron sat on either side of him. Hermione took Harry's quill and dipped it in the ink, before putting it in his hand.

"Harry, really. It's just a form," she said gently.

He took the quill from her, and signed his name, feeling strangely empty.

"There, all set," Ron said.

Harry smiled. "Yeah," he said. "All set."

The next day, he sent Hedwig with the parchment to the Ministry.

--8888--

_He was back in the park. The same two wizards were whispering, a few meters away from him. Again, his partner motioned for Harry to remain where he was, and again, Harry nodded. He knew something was wrong, he just couldn't tell what it was yet._

And suddenly, he felt a slight brush of air, and he jumped on his feet, whirling around and shouting, "Expelliarmus!"

He had turned his back on the scene behind him, though. He only realized his mistake when he heard screams, which was surprising, as "do not turn your back on an enemy, ever" had been a rule Moody had drummed into him during a whole summer.

He turned to face his enemies, a small corner of his mind noticing that Robbie - that was the name of his partner, he now knew, Robert Farnsworth - was dead, before cursing the two dark wizards. One of them fled while Harry was fighting his accomplice, who fell backwards when a vicious disorienting spell hit him in the head.

And it was over, all over again.  


--8888--

After two hours of tossing and turning, unable to rid himself of Robbie's dead eyes and his surprised face, unable to fall back asleep, Harry got out of bed, dressed and put on his invisibility cloak. It had been a long time since he had done that, he thought as he sneaked out of the dormitory and walked noiselessly in the corridors.

He knew what Sirius would have said to that. "_You need to have more fun, kiddo. Who will give Filch grief if you don't?_"

"_I don't care much about that, Sirius,_" Harry thought.

Harry still felt responsible for his godfather's death, and the guilt had been a heavy burden to carry during the past two years. He could understand and accept that others had made mistakes too and that Sirius may have died anyway - _why did you have to be so reckless, Sirius? _he asked silently into the night air. W_hy did __**you**__ have to be so stubborn?_ was his answer. But what had happened, was that Harry had done what he deemed fit, while everyone else tried to warn him about making that very mistake. That was the reality Harry had to live with. Sirius hadn't lived old, he hadn't died in an Order mission, he had died because Harry had trusted a false vision and put himself in danger.

Sirius's face had been surprised, when he had stumbled backwards and fallen through the veil.

As surprised as Robbie's, and Harry suddenly found it difficult to breathe.

"_I'm not ready for this_," he thought. "_Not ready at all_."

There would be other moments like this in his future, if he went on to work as an Auror.

Moments where people, friends or foes, would die on him, either at his wand or caught in the crossfire.

Breathing was becoming increasingly difficult as he pictured himself, ten years from now, more covered in scars than he already was, haunted by the faces of all those he had killed.

He didn't think he could do it again, not even once.

Not after Cedric and Sirius's surprise when death took them, not after the sound of Bellatrix's bones breaking against the wall.

He stumbled, and realised that he had been running.

He tried to get his bearings, to catch his breath, but he couldn't slow his breathing. He tried to walk more slowly and he turned at the corner, swallowing back a wave of panic.

And bumped into Snape.

"Mister Potter," Snape said in his usual oily tone, the one he used when about to take a good thousand points from Gryffindor.

Harry tried to apologise, but he didn't have enough air in his lungs to manage that. He tried to calm himself, and waited to see what the teacher would do now.

He vaguely saw Snape take in his appearance, but his vision was becoming blurry at the edges.

There was a muffled, "Idiot boy," and he felt himself seized by the shoulders, and dragged along the corridor and into a room.

Had Harry been able to see that he was in Snape's private rooms, he would probably have been mortified - as well as curious. As it was, he was merely grateful when the professor guided him to a couch just as his legs gave out.

Still trying to breathe, he heard the professor open a drawer, and a vial was put in his hand. "Drink, Potter," Snape said.

Harry did.

The potion had a horrible taste - acrid and bitter - but then, what potion didn't? It worked almost instantly and the mist surrounding him dissolved. He sat there, panting slightly, feeling drained.

"What?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

"Calming draught," Snape said in a precise tone. "And I suggest you lie down now, as it is quite-"

Harry heard no more.


	4. Chapter 4 : Looking Back at it

**A Thousand Fibres  
**  
Helen C.

_Rating : PG-13_

Summary : After Voldemort's defeat, Harry finds himself finally free to do what he wants. Now, if only he knew what he wants...

Spoilers : All five books are fair game.

Disclaimer : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Acknowledgements : Many thanks to Emily, who beta'd this and to Sharon, for her help on the first chapter.  


* * *

_Chapter Four : Looking Back At It (It's A Small Miracle We Didn't Kill Each Other Off)  
_

Harry woke up the next morning in an unknown room, his memories of the previous night fuzzy, at best.

He sat up slowly, looked around and spotted a note on the table. The same writing often used to write cutting comments on his Potions assignments covered a small sheet of parchment.

_"Mister Potter,_

You should wake up in time to participate in the breakfast in the Great Hall. I suggest you leave my rooms as soon as you finish reading this. Consequences of snooping around will be dire.

Come to my office this afternoon, at 15.00.

S. Snape"  


Harry blushed, remembering. The panic, the breathlessness, and now he was in **Snape's** rooms.

He gulped, looked at his watch, and saw that he had, indeed, just time to go to the Great Hall.

"_Thank God for Saturdays_," he thought, getting to his feet. And wasn't it becoming his new motto?

He shot a curious look around, observing the comfortable and sparsely furnished room. He hadn't known what to expect - he didn't spend much time thinking about Snape's life, if he could avoid it. The man was a thorn in his side during class hours, Harry didn't want to spend his free time thinking about what Snape was like in private. Still, the rooms looked, well, normal. A couch, several shelves for the books, a table, no picture or paintings. Nothing revealing.

Harry shook himself. He couldn't stay much longer. He didn't think he could resist "snooping around" if he did. "_Time to face the music_," he thought, pushing the door and exiting the rooms.

While he was walking to the Great Hall, he tried to guess why Snape wanted to see him. Was he going to hand a detention, to take points, to yell? Even after all the hours they had spent working on Occlumency together, Harry never really knew what to expect from the man.

It wasn't true to say that Harry and Snape liked each other, even now. At best, they tolerated each other - which was already a victory, considering the state their relationship had been in at the end of Harry's fifth year.

They weren't at each other's throat anymore. Snape still spent more time deriding Harry than teaching him in Potions, but it had become so familiar to Harry that it barely angered him anymore. And in private, Snape was civil. Nothing more, but civility was such an improvement that Harry didn't complain.

Thinking back about his sixth year, Harry supposed they had reached a satisfying status quo. They probably wouldn't kill each other, after all. Emphasis on probably.

--8888--

**1996/1997  
**

Snape's role as a spy came to an end in the summer following Harry's fifth year. Harry never knew exactly what happened, nor did he care. He was too busy mourning Sirius, and drowning in guilt, to pay attention to the war. A few rumours circulated in the school, once it was publicly know that Snape had been a spy. He had been betrayed by a fellow Death Eater, some whispered. Or he had refused to kill his lover. Or the Dark Lord had fed him Veritaserum and questioned him. Or Professor Dumbledore had decided not to risk him on a particular mission. Or Or

Harry refused to speculate. He knew from experience that rumours were rarely true, and he didn't think any of the students knew what had happened. Whatever had happened, it didn't matter. The animosity between he and Snape hadn't diminished.

Harry refused to resume his Occlumency lessons after the summer. He didn't blame Snape for what had happened to Sirius - he believed Professor Dumbledore when he said that Snape had done everything he could to save Sirius. Simply, Harry didn't think that having his mind prodded by someone who hated him so much, and whom he hated so much, would be productive for anyone. He took enough abuse from the man in Potions class, thank you very much. He didn't want to add to that.

He asked Hermione if she had ever read about Occlumency. She blushed, went to her room, and came back with a list of books, and a thick pile of parchments covered with notes she had taken. "I researched it last year," she admitted. "In case you needed help. I never I'm sorry, I didn't tell you, but"

"But I would have yelled at you, and stopped talking to you for days," Harry completed.

She nodded. "It shouldn't have stopped me."

Harry took the notes. "You were **not** the one who needed to do better," he said fiercely.

She bit her lower lip. "Harry, it's dangerous. Some of the stuff in there, you shouldn't attempt alone. Please, go ask Professor-"

H cut her off. "No," he said.

His tone must have convinced her that the subject was closed. She didn't insist. She just told him to ask her if he needed help.

So, Harry began with the books Hermione had read, then went on researching Occlumency on his own, and studied that way. Not a foolproof method, as he would soon discover, but he was at least able to shield himself, to some extent.

Then, shortly before Christmas, Harry had a bad vision. Voldemort had been very active that night, murdering a Muggle family, and Harry saw through the monster's eyes as he tortured and killed everyone in the house. The sheer strength of Voldemort's emotions completely overwhelmed Harry and caused him more pain than he would have imagined possible. When he awoke, he didn't remember most of what he had seen - which was probably for the best. The few details he did remember were more than enough.

Later, he learned that Ron had waited ten minutes before going for help, when it had become apparent that the vision wasn't going to stop. Harry had damaged his vocal cords screaming, and they were so irritated that he spent nearly a week whispering.

He could remember waking up, some undetermined time later, to hear Professor Dumbledore's worried voice and his potions professor's scathing tones.

"This is enough, Severus," Dumbledore was saying.

"He has proven that he is not able-"

"Severus, I never asked for explanations for the way you teach your classes, but this is not about teaching a class. This is about freeing the world from Voldemort, something you swore you would do. This is about helping a sixteen-year-old child placed in your care to survive."

"If he was interested in survival-"

"I said **enough**." The last time Professor Dumbledore had used that voice, he had been questioning Crouch Jr. Harry lay very still and listened. "Harry is not James, and the sooner you come to terms with this, the better. I shouldn't have let the situation deteriorate so much, but I'm stepping in now. You will teach him Occlumency again. You will be civil to him while doing so. You will explain things to him as many times as necessary. If he requests someone else's presence during these lessons, it will be granted." There was a short pause. "He almost died last night, Severus. What do you think Voldemort will do, if he learns that?"

Snape's voice was strained as he answered, "He will do the same thing again, every night, until Potter dies."

"Precisely. He usually sends his Death Eaters do the dirty job, but if he learns what happened to Harry when he did it himself, you know he won't hesitate."

There was a silence, then Snape said, his tone harsh, "He invaded my privacy."

"Yes. I do believe there are explanations, to that."

"Explanations." The word was almost spat.

"Severus, speak with him."

"He never even apologized."

Another silence, then Professor Dumbledore's weary voice, "And did you give him an opportunity to do so, Severus?"

"He is sixteen. He is here to learn. You are here to teach."

Snape's voice was almost defeated when he answered, "Yes, Albus."

The men went away then, and Harry opened his eyes, and looked at the window. The world was blurry without his glasses, but there wasn't much to see. It was pitch black outside. The thought of picking up Occlumency again horrified him. The thought of Snape, sneering, mocking, humiliating him, made his blood boil.

He had never understood why Professor Dumbledore let the man have his way with abusing the students he was supposed to be teaching. And he would probably have refused flat out, if

If Professor Dumbledore hadn't admitted, just then, that he should have stepped in sooner.

If the last vision he had had hadn't been so utterly terrifying.

If he hadn't spent two days in a coma because of it.

If it hadn't been proved that studying Occlumency on his own just wasn't going to cut it.

He knew Professor Dumbledore had probably known he was awake, a few minutes ago. The Headmaster seemed to have a way of making sure that people heard things he wanted them to hear. So, he had probably partly wanted to manipulate Harry into agreeing. But Harry had to admit, he didn't think he'd survive another vision like the last one.

He sighed inwardly. He would accept. But he would hold the Headmaster up to what he had said, and he definitely wouldn't accept a repeat of last year's sessions.

His decision made, he fell back asleep.

--8888--

When Harry awoke again, a hand was brushing his hair from his forehead. Then a thumb rubbed small circles near his hairline. He had seen that kind of gesture on TV, but no one had ever actually done that to him, yet. Except perhaps Hermione, once or twice. The hand didn't feel like Hermione's though.

He opened one eye, and saw a familiar figure standing near him.

"Remus?"

"Hey, Harry," Lupin said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

The sensation of the mattress shifting woke Harry completely. He sat up, slowly, relieved to notice that the headache that had been a constant companion the last few times he had been conscious had vanished. "What are you doing here?"

Lupin put his glasses in his hands, and Harry put them on gratefully.

"What do you think?" Lupin asked, smiling gently. For a moment, Harry missed Sirius horribly, violently. His godfather should have been here. Harry liked Lupin, but it wasn't the same as having Sirius with him.

His feelings must have shown on his face, and Lupin smiled sadly. "I miss him too," he said.

Harry nodded, fighting the urge to cry.

"How do you feel?" Lupin asked, once they were both more composed.

Harry shrugged. "As well as possible, I guess. Considering."

Lupin nodded. "Yes."

Harry growled softly. "Professor Dumbledore asked you to talk to me, didn't he?" he asked, hoping it wasn't disappointment he felt. He would have liked to know that Lupin had come because he was fond of Harry, not to obey the Headmaster's wishes.

"Yes."

Harry opened his mouth, and Lupin went on, "I told him to get lost."

Harry's mouth stayed opened. Lupin smiled. "Serious discussions can wait until you're out of here."

"Can they?"

Lupin eyed him for a moment, then nodded. "You've already decided," he said.

"Yeah. How - ?"

Lupin shrugged. "You look brave and resigned to your fate."

Harry snorted, then grew serious. "I'm not saying I'll just take anything from Snape."

Lupin nodded. "That was a great part of my discussion with Albus." He stared at his hands. "Harry, I'm sorry. We left you alone, didn't we?"

Harry swallowed past the lump that was forming in his throat. "You tried not to," he said. "You **did** warn me."

Lupin sighed. "But no one talked to you. We always assumed there would be time later. That we were keeping you safe, and that there would be a time for explanations. Later. We never really listened, just told you what to do."

Harry shook his head. "I knew stuff was happening. I just didn't know what."

"Harry"

Harry cut him off. "I know I'm a huge target, I know I'll never know what's happening in detail in case I'm captured."

"But you want to know what concerns you." Lupin put a hand on Harry's, and smiled sadly. "Sirius yelled at Dumbledore every time he saw him, last year. 'You need to tell Harry, he deserves to know.' 'Don't keep him locked up.' 'Do you have any idea what your indifference is doing to him?' 'Don't leave him alone with Snape, with Umbridge.'" Lupin's eyes met Harry's. "We all should have listened to him."

This time, a tear did make his way down Harry's cheek, and he hastily wiped it away. Lupin, he noticed, didn't look away like he had when they were working on the Patronus charm. For some reason, that pleased Harry.

They stayed silent a moment. Then Lupin said, "See, I had promised the serious discussions could wait and here we are-"

"I never really tried," Harry said abruptly. He had never talked with Lupin about that night at the Ministry. He supposed Lupin had known about what had happened in the Headmaster's office, but suddenly, it seemed important to say it himself to the last of his father's friends still alive. "I didn't want to do it, I never found the time, or I was too curious to know what the Order was keeping from me, and then it was too late."

Lupin leaned over and hugged him. "You were fifteen. Yes, you should have done better, but then, we all should have, and we're the adults here."

"It's not enough," Harry said fiercely, trying to break from the embrace. Lupin didn't let him go, and even hugged him tighter.

"The only thing we can do, Harry, is remember Sirius, learn and move on. I can already assure you that Albus, even if he doesn't tell you **everything**, will never make the mistake of ignoring you again. And we will be here to talk about your lessons with Severus. I'll come to the castle every week."

"Special treatment," Harry mumbled.

He felt Lupin shake his head. "Parents may come see their kids at any time. Most choose not to, often because their kids are self conscious teenagers, and because their problems can be dealt with by the staff easily enough. But I assure you that my own parents came to see me when my transformation had been particularly hard. And no one would refuse a student here any help he would need. You've never seen it happen, because there are attention-diverting charms put, so that no one notices."

Harry disentangled himself from the embrace, and faced Lupin. "Okay," he said.

Lupin sighed, and added, "And you can be sure that it is not a duty, or an obligation, or whatever it is you've decided it is."

Harry still had his doubts, but he nodded, tired. Lupin squeezed his hand, and accioed a chair. He sat down. "Try to sleep," he said. "I'll stay for a while."

Harry settled down, a little off balance after the discussion. He never discussed Sirius in front of Ron and Hermione, because, as tonight had demonstrated, he just couldn't keep it together when he did. They, in turn, didn't try to broach the subject, and sometimes, Harry felt as if Sirius was being forgotten already. He knew it wasn't voluntary on their parts but that didn't make him feel better.

Talking with Lupin had been good, he admitted.

--8888--

The first Occlumency lesson, three days after Harry had been released from Madam Pomfrey's care, was unsettling. Snape had obviously been talked to by several people, and tried to look civil. Harry could see the man bursting to say something cutting, and he braced himself - if it was even possible to brace oneself for what was to come.

Last year's experience hadn't made him confident in his abilities, or in his teacher.

Like last year, it began badly. Snape was able to push past whatever shield Harry had ever managed to achieve without so much as a glitch.

He opened his mouth and Harry waited for the insults. "Potter, are you familiar with the concept of clearing one's mind?"

Harry gritted his teeth. For the man, that **was** as civil as he ever got. "Yes. I just don't understand how it's done. Is it thinking about nothing? How can I think of nothing?"

Severus looked at him, disbelieving. "Potter, didn't we go through this last year?"

Harry bit back an angry retort. He had promised Lupin, and Professor Dumbledore, and Sirius, that he would try to do better this time around. And a big part of his failure last year was that he hadn't said exactly what the problem was - not that Snape would have listened, but Snape seemed more cooperative this time, for now, so he said, "No, sir. You said, 'Clear you mind,' but I didn't know how to do that, and I still don't know how to do that. I tried to read about it, but it didn't help."

Snape sighed, and sat down. "Why didn't you say something sooner?"

"I did," Harry pointed out, tired already. "I said I didn't know what you wanted me to do."

Snape opened his mouth, his eyes dark, and Harry said quickly, "And yes, I should have tried better anyway, and I'm sorry I looked into your pensieve. I did try to apologize then, but." Nothing he could have said would have been diplomatic, so he fell silent and waited. For Snape to have a heart attack or start throwing things at him again. Or for the world to end.

Snape growled slightly, then said, "Let us forget about what happened here last year, Potter," he said dangerously.

"Yes, sir."

"Now, let's talk about clearing your mind."

--8888--

It took two months until Snape declared himself satisfied with Harry's progress. He still wanted to work with him, for, as he put it, "Voldemort will not satisfy himself with an acceptable performance, Mister Potter," but Harry could at least fall asleep without fearing to have his mind invaded by the monster.

Lupin, true to his word, came every Saturday. He met Harry in an unused classroom on the third floor, and they talked, about Snape and how Harry was doing, about classes and the DA, about Sirius, and Harry's parents. The conversations often left him drained, and depressed, but at least, on the long run, he felt himself getting better. Lupin often sighed that he shouldn't have been left at the Dursleys after Sirius's death, that he should have come sooner. Harry once answered that at least, he was there now. Lupin smiled sadly, and for a second, Harry knew Lupin had thought about James.

Professor Dumbledore couldn't take Harry for private talks too often - he was, after all, the Headmaster, and couldn't show favouritism. He had, however, talked to Harry about Occlumency, and Snape. Harry had told him that he would take the lessons, but wouldn't take any crap from Snape. Later, he would blush at the words he had chosen.

"It's one thing to criticize so I can do better, it's another to yell, and insult, and use Occlumency as **punishment** when I'm not good enough. Perhaps he has his reasons to systematically trash me in Potions, to under grade all my papers and sabotage my potions, but Occlumency lessons are private."

Professor Dumbledore had looked a little taken aback, but had nodded nonetheless. "I already talked to Professor Snape, Harry," he assured.

Harry nodded, then sighed. "I'm sorry."

"You are under more pressure than most of your peers."

So, while Snape's behaviour toward Harry didn't change in Potions class, in private, he was keeping his temper under check. So was Harry. With a few exceptions, sometimes, but they were not perfect men by any means.

Sometimes, Harry wondered what his father would have thought about the relationship Harry had with Snape.

Snape still thought Harry was too arrogant, Harry still thought Snape was a vindictive, bitter man. He may have had his reasons to be like this, but Harry didn't have to like it. In his moments of brutal self honesty, Harry admitted that Snape was all he feared becoming - embittered by his past, unable to let anyone close to him. Lonely and vengeful.

They could hold entire conversations without biting each other's heads off, though. As long as there weren't any witnesses to the fact. As long as they were both calm to begin with. Sometimes Harry thought of Snape as two different people. There was the bastard who was teaching Potions, who humiliated him every chance he got and took points and insulted him. And there was the man he met for private lessons, who gritted his teeth to stay polite, who sometimes manifested a sly sense of humour that Harry could almost appreciate, who had saved his life more times than he cared to think about.

Still, for all the politeness between them, Harry felt monumentally embarrassed as he made his way to Snape's office. He had deflected Ron's questions about the previous night as best as he could - "I was just walking around, Ron" - but he had the feeling Snape was going to assign detention and take points for sneaking out after curfew.

He reached Snape's office, took a deep breath, and knocked on the door.

"Enter," he heard.

He entered. Snape was grading papers at his desk. He spared one glance at Harry, gestured for him to take a seat, and finished the paper he had begun.

Harry waited, trying not to fidget.


	5. Chapter 5 : Career's Advice, Take Two

**A Thousand Fibres  
**  
Helen C.

_Rating : PG-13_

Summary : After Voldemort's defeat, Harry finds himself finally free to do what he wants. Now, if only he knew what he wants...

Spoilers : All five books are fair game.

Disclaimer : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Acknowledgements : Many thanks to Emily, who beta'd this and to Sharon, for her help on the first chapter.

* * *

_Chapter Five : Career's Advice, Take Two  
_

Snape finished grading the paper, then put it aside. He studied Harry for a moment, before saying, "So, Potter."

Surprisingly, Snape looked almost as uncomfortable as Harry felt. Weird. Snape never looked uncomfortable. "Professor?"

Snape grimaced slightly. "Potter, I don't like you, you don't like me, and the only reason we haven't killed each other yet is because Albus would look at us in that disappointed way of his, and we don't want that." He snarled. "Fools that we are."

Harry actually chuckled. "Yes, sir."

"I saved your life because you were instrumental in defeating the Dark Lord."

"I know."

"And because of a debt I owed to your father."

"Yes, sir." He didn't add "your point is?" but it was easy to hear it in his tone.

"And I wouldn't like my efforts to have been in vain."

"I'm still alive," Harry pointed out.

"Yes. Although for how long remains to be seen, if you can't even keep breathing properly."

Harry blushed at the reminder of the previous night. "I wasn't-"

"Mister Potter, for the time this discussion will last, let's forget that we despise each other."

Harry felt the blush recede, and nodded nervously.

"What happened last night?"

"I had a nightmare." That was simple enough, even though Harry didn't know why that had sent him into a panic attack.

Snape wasn't convinced by the explanation. "Not an unusual occurrence for you, I gather. Hardly worth working yourself into such a state, I would think."

Harry blushed. "No, sir."

"So?"

Harry growled slightly, suddenly feeling desperate to find the cause of the problem. "I don't know." He focussed on a pile of essays perched on the desk. "I I saw myself in ten years." He blushed, embarrassed beyond words. Therapy with Snape What was the world coming to?

When he didn't add anything, Snape said, "I assume you didn't like what you saw?"

Harry shook his head, still transfixed by the essays.

"What do you plan to do, when you have left here?" Snape's voice implied that would be a day he would celebrate. Harry almost smiled, reassured at this glimpse of the usual Snape - the one he usually dealt with, sarcastic and grouchy.

"I sent an application form for the Auror program," Harry said.

"Figures," Snape muttered. "Aren't you tired of being the bloody hero, Potter?"

Harry hung his head.

"Look at me," Snape ordered.

Harry raised his head. "Yes, sir, I am."

"And yet, you want to be an Auror?"

Harry swallowed back the "Sure" that had been on his lips. He could pretend that everything was fine, but it wasn't. Perhaps it was time he admitted it, and dealt with it. The truth was, he didn't want to spend his life fighting.

"I would think the question would be simple enough," Snape said.

"_Not as simple as that,_" Harry thought. He had said, for years, that he planned to become an Auror. He had followed classes to reach that goal, including, for Merlin's sake, Potions. Now, all he had to do was pass the NEWTs and get on with it.

As people were expecting him to do.

And yet

Yet, the answer to Snape's question was clear to Harry now. "No, Sir, I don't think I want to be an Auror."

There was no judgement in Snape's tone. "Why?"

Harry sighed, and looked at the shelved books on the walls. "It was fun, you know?" he said. "In first year, when we stopped Quirrell. I just It was an adventure, and there were scary moments, but it was also camaraderie, and it was - " He smiled a little. " - stopping evil." When Snape didn't retort with a cutting remark, Harry went on, "Then people began dying, and then I killed someone. And I hated it. When Voldemort died, I didn't feel good like everybody else. I felt relieved."

"Most of us did," Snape pointed out. Not for the first time since the conversation had begun, Harry wondered why Snape took the time to talk to him. In two months, Harry would be gone, presumably never to come back again. Why was Snape bothering? To make sure his "efforts hadn't been in vain?"

"Yes," Harry said. "But the point is I killed him because he would have killed me. I thought I would train, and become able to look at the greater good, to do the right thing because it's the right thing. But it wasn't that way. There wasn't time for that, I just didn't have a choice, so I did it."

"Yes?"

"And I'm not sure I would have if it hadn't been me in the prophecy." Then he realised how stupid that sounded. "I mean, if there hadn't been a prophecy, if anyone could have killed him. I don't think I would have tried." He smiled bitterly. "Not a very Gryffindor feeling."

Snape shook his head. "Albus made sure you'd become someone who took care of things," he sighed.

Harry shrugged. "He did what he thought best, and things turned out all right in the end. That's not the point."

"What is the point, Potter?"

Harry thought for a minute. He had felt trapped for weeks, and he had difficulties exploring the roots of the problem. "If I become an Auror," he finally said, "that will be my life. Finding dark wizards. Stopping them. I've had enough of that."

"For now," Snape said.

"Yes, but how can I know what I'll want in six months?"

"What do you think you'll want?"

Harry raised his hands in exasperation. "I never thought about anything else," he said.

Snape growled. "Typical Gryffindor. Never a back up plan." He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "What do you like to do?" The words seemed to be painful for Snape to say, as if interesting himself in Harry Potter's life was beneath him. Harry couldn't help being impressed the man didn't add an insult to the question.

"Quidditch," he said. "But I don't want to make it a career."

"Why not?"

"Quidditch has always been something I did for, well, the fun of it. I don't want it to become serious."

Snape seemed on the verge of a cutting remark, but all he said was, "There must be more than Quidditch."

"DADA." Harry shrugged and swallowed back a nervous laugh. "I was a little busy trying to survive, I don't even know what I want."

Snape considered him a moment, deep in thought. "I think," he said at last, "that you shouldn't make a decision then."

Harry felt a little taken aback. He was finishing school in a few months, shouldn't he have made a decision by then?

Snape smiled bitterly. "Mister Potter, it is not a written law that you must have your whole future planned when you leave this institution. In fact, I think any decision you could make while you are feeling like you are, would end up causing a disaster in a few years."

Harry nodded, and saw Snape rub his forearm slightly. He wondered if the man was thinking about the decisions he had made at seventeen.

"Potter?"

He smiled. "Sorry. Everyone seems so set on me getting settled."

"You shouldn't let their guilty conscience guide your actions."

"Their guilty-"

Snape looked annoyed. "Potter, don't you think most of the adults you know feel bad about making you fight the Dark Lord? Don't you think they want to see you move on, so they can convince themselves that all is right with the world?"

Harry swallowed. Snape went on, oblivious.

"They won't dare talk to you, but they will push you into whatever role they feel best for you."

"And make me the next Dumbledore," Harry muttered. "A bloody symbol everyone turns to when things get tough and they need reassurances."

"People need heroes, Mister Potter."

Harry gritted his teeth. He hadn't much experience of the Muggle world, even though he had grown up in it, but he knew that Muggles were, on average, a lot more sceptical about their leaders than wizards. Thinking about the wizarding world's response to the lies published in the _Daily Prophet_ still angered him. "People need to take themselves by the hand, and to think, and to make decisions based on what they think, instead of following a leader blindly - Fudge, Dumbledore, or me," he said.

Snape snorted. "Good luck for that."

"I guess so." Harry groaned, fighting the urge to start banging his head against the desk in frustration. "Damn, but I've known, from the night of the Third Task, that it would come down to Voldemort and me. I never expected to survive. I thought, at best, that I'd take him down with me." He snorted. "My future wasn't supposed to become an issue."

"Well, it is now."

"Yeah." He felt so overwhelmed by all these decisions he had to make. He hadn't truly realised, until now, just how much he had expected to die. He had never truly pictured himself as anything. Oh, of course, like any boy his age, he had daydreamed about catching the snitch for England at the World Cup. But even then, he had known it was unlikely to ever happen.

"Potter, let me give you a piece of advice," Snape said. "Take a long holiday. Don't sign anything until you know what you want. I can't believe I am saying this, but be selfish, for Merlin's sake."

Harry stared at him for a moment, dumbfounded.

"Er," he said.

"What?"

He shook his head. "I already sent the papers back to the Ministry."

"You sent them an application, Potter, you didn't sign a magically binding contract. I hope even you know not to sign those without due consideration."

"Yes, sir."

"Then, I would suggest you focus on your NEWTs, and make a decision later."

The Potions Master took his quill in his hand, picked the next paper on the pile, and bent down to work. Harry got to his feet and went to the door, unsettled by the discussion - and by Snape's advice.

The professor's voice stopped him two feet from the door. "Potter?"

"Sir?"

"Thirty points from Gryffindor for roaming the hallways at night."

Harry almost smiled. "Yes, sir. Thanks."

--8888--

The letter from the Ministry arrived the next Monday. Just a standard form, saying his application was interesting and he should take the tests allowing access to the Auror's program, in July.

Hermione peered at Harry over her book. "Good news?" she asked.

Harry shrugged. "I can take the tests, at least," he commented.

Ron, at his left, made an indecipherable noise, and wolfed down a huge mouthful of eggs. Hermione looked vaguely disgusted, and Harry hid the letter in his backpack. The NEWTs were coming fast, and Hermione's stress was beginning to contaminate him. He would never like exams, Harry decided, finishing a piece of toast before heading for the first class of the day.

The letter from the Ministry stayed in his bag for most of the week, before moving to his trunk, where Harry wouldn't see it each time he needed a book.

It stayed there.

-8888--

Later, when asked to tell younger wizards what the NEWTs were like, all Harry would remember were the countless hours in the common room, and the library, bent over books, scribbling notes so fast his hand hurt, and trying to commit to memory yet another titbit of information that would make the difference between an E and an O.

The waiting before entering the examination room would be a blur to him, as well as the questions he was asked.

Sometimes, he felt as if someone had just taken over his body and was performing for him. Given his history, it should have been worrisome. Harry found he didn't mind, though - just was long as he got his body back at the end of the week, so he could use it to eat amounts of food that would make even Ron blush with envy, and sleep for a month.

And the fact that he allowed this kind of thoughts, he mused, said a lot about the state he was in.

"Mental," Ron said, often. He said it about Hermione, who was more snappish than ever; about Neville, who sometimes answered exam questions in his sleep; about the fifth years who were taking their OWLs; about Harry, who could barely remember his own name. No one listened to him. They were all too focussed on transfiguration and potions to pay attention to other people's idiosyncrasies.

The only thing that would really stand out in the blur that was that week was Ron saying, "Mental" when Professor Dumbledore gallantly opened the door of a classroom for an examiner. The deathly silence that followed, and Harry and Hermione's hysterical laughter at the sight of Ron's face were the only thing Harry wanted to commit to memory, of that long, long week.

--8888--

"_Dear Remus,_

Well, I'm finally done.

No more NEWTs, no more questions, no more studying.

Although last night, I had this disturbing dream of an examiner finding me and telling me that my degree had been revoked, and I had to take the NEWTs again. Poor guy looked funny when I was done with him, all covered with blue feathers. Do you think that's a bad sign? And, perhaps more importantly, will the dreams ever stop?

Anyway, the end of the Exams We Will Never Mention Again If We Are To Stay On Civil Terms is not the main reason I'm writing you.

I was wondering I wrote to you when I sent the papers for the Auror apprenticeship to the Ministry, didn't I? I think I did. The thing is, I've been having second thoughts - Ron calls it "cold feet," but I think, mostly, that I came to the conclusion that I have enough nightmares already, without adding new ones to the list. I'm not sure what I want out of life - until recently, what I wanted out of life was survive the school year, and I never really thought about the future.

I'm rambling, aren't I?

I'm not even sure why I'm writing, except to keep you aware of what's happening. I guess I was wondering if you had any thoughts on the matter? Before I write to the Ministry and take my application back?

I hope everything is going fine with you.

HP."

Harry finished the letter and sat back, exhausted beyond comprehension - all the seventh years were the worst for wear. They all tired easily and seemed unable to focus. Thankfully, most teachers seemed happy to just let them be, and didn't try to hold a class anymore. The one exception being, of course, Snape. But then, no one had expected any different from him.

Harry looked over the letter. It seemed jumbled to him - as were his feelings, these days.

He hadn't had any more panic attacks. Which was of the good.

He had, two nights before, had a nightmare about Voldemort. He supposed it had come from his "discussion" with Malfoy. The Slytherin had been very discreet since Christmas, keeping his insults of the trio to a minimum. Then, two days ago, Harry had been walking to Hagrid's hut, and had crossed Malfoy on his way there.

"So, Potter, going to enjoy the fame in the outside world, instead of just here?" Malfoy had asked.

Why people kept making snide remarks about a fame he hadn't asked for, and didn't feel he deserved, Harry would never know. He tried to ignore Malfoy and go on his way, but the Slytherin said, "Do you still dream of Him, Potter? Does He still haunt you?"

Harry looked back at Malfoy. "Haven't thought about the bloody nuisance in weeks," he lied. "I've been busy."

Malfoy smiled knowingly. "You say that. I'm sure he's still with you. He marked you, Potter."

"And he died in the snow, with no one caring - even his supporters were only in it out of fear or for power. Not for him. He's gone, Malfoy. And good riddance, really."

Malfoy's eyes darkened, and his hand moved to his wand. Harry sighed inwardly. A few more days to go. Couldn't Malfoy have resisted that long?

Professor McGonagall was approaching quickly, and her arrival quite probably prevented a duel of mythical proportions on the school grounds. "Mister Potter. Mister Malfoy. A problem?"

Harry waited. Malfoy hesitated, then said, "No, Professor." His hand relaxed.

"Mister Potter?" asked Professor McGonagall.

"No problem," Harry said.

"Then I suggest you both go on your way," she said firmly.

Even with her watching, Harry waited until Malfoy was a good distance away before turning his back to him and heading to Hagrid.

And so, that night, he relived the Hogsmeade Battle in his dreams, and Ron shook him awake at three in the morning, and sat with him in the common room until dawn.

Harry sighed, rubbed his neck and went to the owlery to give the letter to Hedwig. He watched her fly in the night sky - a sight that would never cease to amaze him.

He honestly didn't know why he had written to Lupin - except perhaps to not follow Snape's advice too blindly. He trusted Lupin's advice - the man had always treated him fairly, and had never seemed to mistake him for James. A skill Sirius, much as Harry had loved him, had never mastered.

--8888--

Lupin's reply came the next evening. Harry was sitting high on the stands of the Quidditch Pitch, enjoying the sunset - the view, from so high, was spectacular.

Hedwig flew down to him and settled on the bench next to him. Harry took the letter, and stroked her feathers. "Thanks, girl," he said. She looked at him expectantly. He snorted. "Sorry, I don't have anything on me. But I can take you back to the castle when I've read this, and find something for you to eat?"

She seemed to think for a moment, before flapping her wings, and going to perch on his shoulder. Hermione was always amused to see Harry talking to his owl. "She seems to understand everything you tell her," she often said.

Harry unrolled the parchment, Lupin's writing doing wonders to calm him.

"_Dear Harry,_

Congratulations on being done!

I remember my NEWTs in living details. I could barely stand the sight of a book for about two weeks after that. James wanted to celebrate by flying (your father always celebrated by flying. The first night you spent home, he took you out on his broom, and even though he didn't fly high, Lily cursed him when he landed, and didn't talk to him for hours.) Sirius had planned a prank on Snape, and he fell asleep in the dormitory, and forgot about it. He wasn't there to see the results of his handiwork. It had never happened to him before. And Lily got up, the day after her last exam, and went to the room where we had been tested, forgetting that she was done.

There, that was for the trip down memory lane."

Harry smiled. He never asked Lupin to talk about his parents and Sirius. He had mentioned once, in passing, that he liked to hear about them. Now, each time something he wrote reminded Lupin of something that had happened during his own time at Hogwarts, he told Harry about it. "It's good for me too," Lupin had said, once Harry had worried that it was too painful for Lupin. "It's good to remember the good times, the fun we had, our friendship. Instead of everything else."

"_About your future, I understand what you said about not having thought about it until recently. You probably know the life expectancy of a werewolf is not long - well, believe me, it was even shorter before the Wolfsbane potion was invented. I was not even supposed to make it through Hogwarts. I asked my parents, once, why they had bothered sending me to an expensive school when I probably wouldn't live long enough to finish it. They were both Hogwarts alumni, and they answered that they wanted me to enjoy life there as they had, make friends, have all the experiences boys my age had. "You never know what will come," they said. "You're not dead until you are, and until then, you need to plan to live." Yet another thing I should have told you before. I'm not very good at the informal guardian thing, I'm afraid._

Anyway, when I finished Hogwarts, I was much as you are, with no definite plans. It took me a few years to decide what I wanted - and let me assure you, you have time. Think, learn new things, and the rest will come naturally.

There, that's my advice. Relax, and the answer will come to you.

I hope to see you in a few weeks time.

Love,  
Remus

PS. The dreams about the revoked degree will disappear, don't you worry. It takes about two or three years, but they go away."

--8888--

Later that night, after feeding Hedwig, Harry scribbled a quick answer.

"_Remus,_

Thanks for the advice.

You are not bad at the guardian thing, believe me! Even if you had said that I needed to think about the future, I wouldn't have listened to you - I was too caught up with Voldemort to pay attention to anything else.

I'll see you as soon as I'm out of here.

H.P.

PS. TWO BLOODY YEARS?"


	6. Chapter 6 : After Hogwarts

**A Thousand Fibres  
**  
Helen C.

_Rating : PG-13_

Summary : After Voldemort's defeat, Harry finds himself finally free to do what he wants. Now, if only he knew what he wants...

Spoilers : All five books are fair game.

Disclaimer : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Acknowledgements : Many thanks to Emily, who beta'd this and to Sharon, for her help on the first chapter.

* * *

_Chapter Six : After Hogwarts  
_

The last days Harry spent at Hogwarts were peaceful. The students prepared to move on with their lives. Many talked about the jobs they wanted to try out, about the families they wanted to visit, about keeping in touch after they left Hogwarts.

Harry had finally decided to send a letter to the Ministry, saying he wouldn't take the tests after all. Professor McGonagall asked him to come to her office one evening and asked him if he was sure it was what he wanted.

"I guess so. I can apply later, can't I? NEWTs scores permitting?"

"Yes, of course. People of all backgrounds apply to the program."

She seemed a little disappointed, but Harry hadn't had any other panic attacks since he had decided not to join the Aurors' ranks, and he took it as a sign that his decision was the good one. He didn't feel so trapped anymore. He didn't feel pressured to make decisions **now,** or die trying. Which allowed him to enjoy his last days as a student, in the company of his friends.

And to rejoice with them when, finally, Ron made his move.

It happened fast. Hermione was debating the pros and cons of using a standard summoning charm or a modified one with a Ravenclaw, in the library. Harry could only understand every other word, so fried was his brain after the NEWTs. And suddenly, as Hermione paused to catch her breath, Ron said, "Marry me."

Hermione said, "Er."

Harry sat straighter, suddenly very awake.

Everyone in the vicinity stopped what they were doing, and listened. The silence spread from one student to the next, until the library was totally silent.

Ron blushed.

Hermione stuttered, "What?"

Ron gulped, and said, more hesitantly, "Marry me, please?"

Someone snorted.

Hermione said, "Ron, it's just because of the stress, you don't-"

He shook his head. "No, it's not. Look, of course we'd need to wait until we can live on our own" - there were a few whistles at that - "but I've been thinking about it a lot, and" He blushed even more, put a knee on the ground, and looked up at Hermione, "Hermione Granger, would you please become my wife?"

Hermione burst into tears, nodding. And Ron, being Ron, said, "But why are you crying?"

"Oh, boys," Hermione said, flinging herself in his arms.

Harry sniggered, having seen them have that very argument time and again, then rose to hug and congratulate them, amongst applause from the onlookers.

Later that night, Ron told him how utterly mortified he had been at the audience he had gathered. "Everyone should have moments like that in their lives," Harry answered, only half joking. "Do you love her?" At Ron's nod, he went on, "Well, then, enjoy it."

8888

There were only two days left. Then it would be the parting feast, and the last ride to London on the Hogwarts Express - the _New Hogwarts Express_, as most students had taken to call it. The train that had been attacked by the Death Eaters had been impossible to salvage, but by September, the Ministry had built a new one. To the older students, it was not the same thing as before, and Dean had once laughed that they sounded like aged ladies when they talked about the "good old times."

For now, the trio was lounging on the grass, under a tree.

Ron was bemoaning his lack of job. "I mean, how can I even get a decent home if I can't even get a job?"

Harry could sympathize, but he also knew that Hermione would stay with Ron, no matter what.

"I don't have anything either," he said. He still hadn't told them that. Now seemed as good a time as any. "So don't feel alone in that."

"You don't?" his friends chorused.

He shook his head, eyes on the blue sky overhead.

"Why?" Hermione asked. "I thought"

"I decided I didn't want to do that with my life," Harry said.

"Being an Auror is not good enough for you?" Ron asked, resentment in his voice. "Because that's something I'd love to do and-"

Harry cut Ron off before he could warm up on the subject. "Of course, they're the best; of course, they do a vital job. I just don't want to spend my life fighting. That's all."

"Are you sure?" Hermione asked.

Harry nodded.

"What are you going to do then?"

"No idea."

"Not that you'll have any trouble finding money," Ron threw in.

Harry had learned long ago that it was useless reminding Ron that he had earned his fortune at the price of three graves. He didn't say anything, and Ron bit his lip. "No idea at all?" he asked.

"None whatsoever," Harry answered.

"Aren't you nervous?"

Harry laughed. "A little."

"Oh."

"It's an improvement on how it was before the NEWTs, though." He leaned on one elbow. "Look, I'm not the one about to get married, with no idea what he wants to do, so okay, you have bigger issues." He smiled. "I just wanted to say, it's not that unusual to not have definite plans when you leave here. Remus told me he didn't either." He decided to keep Snape's advice to himself. Ron was unlikely to take it to heart.

Ron nodded, looking a bit better. They debated for a long while about the opportunities Ron had. It always boiled down to the fact that what he wanted to do fit Bill's job description very well.

Ron brooded for a while, as Hermione, who planned to take a Charms apprenticeship, enjoyed the sun, and Harry, who felt as relaxed as he ever had, watched the birds flying. After a while, he broke the silence. "I could get used to this."

Ron snorted, then said, "Well, me too."

Hermione hummed in agreement.

Harry went on, "Really, all the other years, something horrible happened after or during the exams, and I felt lousy afterwards - when I was even conscious. Thank Merlin Voldemort attacked at Christmas, this time around."

Hermione laughed at that. "Lucky you."

They spent the rest of the afternoon there, as students came and went on the grounds around them.

Harry remembered Lupin saying that it was important to remember the good things. "_That's what I want to remember_," he decided. Ron proposing to Hermione in the library. Ginny jumping up and down when Neville yelled that he had been accepted as a teaching assistant at Hogwarts next year. Luna reading the _Quibbler _upside down, always looking absent, and often more perceptive than all of them put together.

Harry smiled, and enjoyed the sun.

8888

**Six months later  
The Burrow  
**

"Was that punch alcohol free?" Ginny asked, leaning heavily on Harry.

"Afraid not," he said, trying not to smile.

"Oops," she said. She put a hand to her mouth, a little green. "I'm gonna hurl." She ran to the house, under the disapproving glare of Mrs Weasley.

An elaborate illusion decorated the snowed garden in a beautiful, sunny park. Ron and Hermione had exchanged their vows only two hours before, and were now dancing, oblivious to the rest of the world. Harry felt a strange ache as he watched them. Sometimes, he was a little jealous. Ron had accepted a low-level job at Gringotts, and was, mostly, enjoying it - especially now that Bill had gone back to Egypt. So Ron and Hermione had decided not to wait too long until they married. Which suited Harry just fine.

He had made plans to depart the next day, and was avoiding alcohol. A story printed in the _Quibbler_, four months before, had attracted his attention. It talked about a town in Australia, where Muggles were perfectly aware of the wizarding world's existence. Both communities were in constant contact together, and to Harry, it seemed so impossible that he had actually researched it, and found it was true. Granted, the town was very isolated, and whenever a stranger arrived, any "weird" display of magic had to be explained or erased from the memory of the unsuspecting witness, but it still seemed extraordinary to a British wizard. It suddenly struck Harry that he had never seen anything but Surrey, London and Hogsmeade. And he suddenly discovered he was curious to know how other wizards lived - in Asia, in New Zealand, in Africa. How did they govern, how did they interact with, or hide from, the Muggles?

He wanted to see as much as possible.

He had the money to do it, and Sirius's vault had come with a note - something along the lines of, "_Have fun with the bloody money, or I'll come back to haunt you. I was once a Marauder, I have ways. Love, Sirius._"

Harry planned to wait until Ron and Hermione left, then bid everyone goodbye, catch as much sleep as he could, and take the first plane to the continent in the morning. For Christmas, Ron and Hermione would be on their honeymoon, and Harry would be somewhere in Italy.

He smiled.

He was a little nervous at the thought of travelling alone. It was also very exciting. He had asked Lupin to give him additional lessons in defence, should he need it. He had also talked to him, at long length, about his decisions for the future. Lupin had been supportive, if a little sad to see him go.

"You deserve to see the world you saved," he had said.

Harry had nodded. Now that he was free to do it, he might as well enjoy the opportunity.

It had occurred to him, while Lupin trained him, that he should have been preparing to face Voldemort. It had been the plan, he knew. Get Harry through the NEWTs, then train him to fight Voldemort, on top of his training as an Auror. Then, should he survive, let him go away. He should have been living in fear, instead of preparing to enjoy himself. And he was glad that hadn't come to pass.

Harry saw Professor Dumbledore approaching him and pasted a smile on his face.

"Ah, Harry. How do you find the party?"

"Fine."

"Yes, yes. I always liked marriages, myself."

Harry nodded, thinking soberly that they were so much more fun than funerals. He shook himself. Now was not the time to bring the mood down.

Professor Dumbledore seemed to have guessed what Harry was thinking. "I hear you're preparing to leave."

"Actually, I'm all prepared. I'm leaving tomorrow."

"An adventure," Professor Dumbledore said, smiling.

Harry nodded. This time, it would be an adventure without mortal peril, he vowed.

Professor Dumbledore faced Harry, and put both hands on his shoulders. "I am glad you can do it, Harry."

He smiled. "Thanks."

They stayed silent for a moment, then Harry asked, because the question had bothered him for a long time now, "Did you want to become a leader, sir?" The question sounded stupid to Harry, and he blushed, but didn't retract it. He had been on the verge of asking it several times already. Now seemed like a good time to ask - who knew when he would be back?

The headmaster considered him a moment, then nodded. "Yes, I had wondered when you would ask I don't think any true leader ever asks for it, my boy. Those who seek it, usually end up like Voldemort."

"Or Fudge," Harry interjected. "Not that he was less dangerous, in his own way."

Dumbledore nodded. "There are, of course, people who make their career in governing, who are good at it, who are honest and truly want to serve people. But these rarely become historical figures."

"Not like you," Harry said.

"No, I suppose not."

"Why, if you didn't ask for it-?" Harry made a vague gesture.

"I had just defeated Grindelwald. People needed someone they could rely on, someone to, not guide them exactly, but give them hope in sombre times. So, I did it."

Harry nodded.

"I have seen how you resist that role," Professor Dumbledore added.

Harry snorted. "Pretty legendary. I don't understand how some people can still ignore the fact that I don't plan to become their bloody saviour."

"Harry, I may not have sought leadership, but I didn't, how shall I put it."

"Run away screaming?" Harry offered, self deprecatingly.

"If you will. I wasn't eager to fill that role, but I was willing to do so. I don't think you're at risk of becoming me if you truly don't want to."

Harry hoped so, too. Fervently. Because, one way or the other, he **would** recover anonymity. There could be no doubt about that - he wasn't Albus Dumbledore, and he didn't plan to become him.

He smiled a little. "That's part of the reason I'm leaving," he said, even though the Headmaster probably knew that.

"Not the only reason, I hope?"

"No, not the only one," Harry said.

Professor Dumbledore nodded. "I shall go now. I just wanted to wish you good and safe travel. I'm very proud of you. And, since your parents are not here anymore to say it themselves, I will say, in their place, that I am sure they would like the man you are a lot."

Harry nodded, not trusting his voice, and watched the old man make his way through the crowd. He saw the way people looked at him; reverently. The way they looked at Harry, sometimes.

They wouldn't keep looking his way like that, he thought. No way was he going to put up with that.

8888

Ron and Hermione left around eleven. It took them a good fifteen minutes to make their way through the crowd, thanking people, shaking hands, smiling, even though they must both be ready to collapse.

Harry was the last. Hermione hugged him, refusing to let go for a while. When she pushed back, she had tears on her face. "Are you sure you don't want to wait until later to go?" she asked.

He smiled at her. "Certain. I'll be on a beach, working on my non existent tan, by Christmas."

She snorted.

"Just to see what a sunny Christmas looks like," he added.

She hugged him again, and he said laughingly, "I think your husband is beginning to grow impatient."

She released him, and Harry found himself drawn in Ron's arms. "The husband understands," Ron said.

Harry hugged back. They stayed that way a moment, then Harry giggled. "I think your wife is growing impatient."

Hermione burst out laughing, and Ron released him.

The three looked at each other for a while. Harry bit his lip, and said, "Go now. I'll write, I'll come visit."

They both nodded, and waved at the rest of the guests, who were watching from a good distance. Then, they both disapparated.

Harry stood there a moment, and felt two arms around his shoulders, dragging him backwards. "Oy, Harrykins," Fred said, resting his chin on Harry's left shoulder.

"I want a hug too," George said, and his arms went around Harry's waist, and he rested his head on his right shoulder.

Harry laughed.

"Much better," Fred said. "Really, can't get maudlin at a wedding, can we?"

"Especially when there are talks to be had."

"About business."

Harry shook them off and turned to face them. "Oh?"

Mrs Weasley interrupted them. "Fred! George! I can't believe you'd try to drag him into-"

"How much do you need?" Harry asked, before Mrs Weasley could finish.

"Harry!" said Mrs Weasley. "You don't have to do that."

"I know I don't," he said. "But I'm the heir of two wealthy families, I don't have luxurious tastes, and I like the way these two think. Most of the time."

They both looked ecstatic. "Really?" Fred asked.

"We want to expand, you know."

"Go where the clients are."

"In Hogsmeade, for example."

"But, this time, you would earn a part of the benefits."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but George raised a hand. "That part's not negotiable."

He hesitated a moment, then nodded. "Okay. How much?"

Each of them took one of his elbows, and he was dragged away, while Mrs Weasley looked at them, a mixture of annoyance and resignation on her face.

Two very happy twins went home that night, and Harry put a copy of his contract in a folder, to be left to the man who would take care of his money in his absence.

8888

The rest of the night was a blur of happy faces, dances, laughter and animated conversations.

Harry went "home" - a room at the Leaky Cauldron, which he had occupied for the last months, seeing no need to rent an apartment when he would leave the country soon - at one in the morning, and collapsed on the bed, giggly, nervous and content.

This had been the ideal last night in the country, he decided.

8888

Three days after Christmas, a familiar white owl dropped a postcard in front of Severus Snape, during breakfast in the great hall. It was a card featuring a beach, and the sea.

On it were only written,

"_Thank you._

Happy Holidays.

HP."

An unknowing observer would have thought that Severus Snape was as sour as ever, but Albus Dumbledore, who was watching him, was not an unknowing observer. The Hogwarts Headmaster smiled knowingly as Snape gave a bit of sausage to the owl.


	7. Chapter 7 : Welcome to California

**A Thousand Fibres  
**  
Helen C.

_Rating : PG-13_

Summary : After Voldemort's defeat, Harry finds himself finally free to do what he wants. Now, if only he knew what he wants...

Spoilers : All five books are fair game.

Disclaimer : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Acknowledgements : Many thanks to Emily, who beta'd this and to Sharon, for her help on the first chapter.  


* * *

Warning : This chapter contains a non-graphic attempted rape. Don't get there if it upsets you.

* * *

**Part Two : Away from Hogwarts**

_Chapter Seven : Welcome to California_

Sometimes, Harry could barely believe that it had been five years since Hermione and Ron's wedding. Five years since he had left England and had begun his journey. To him, it seemed it was only yesterday.

He had, of course, been back several times to England. At least four times a year, actually. He stayed at Lupin's place, or at the Burrow, where Molly kept repeating he didn't take care enough of himself, and he needed to eat more, while piling food on his plate.

Every time he got back, someone asked him when he would come back for good.

"I'm here now," he usually replied.

For the first two years, that was enough for everyone.

The third year, people seemed intrigued by his steadfast refusal to come back, settle down and marry.

Now, some people seemed worried and some annoyed.

Harry had visited Lupin, one month ago, before leaving for the United States.

"Molly asked me to ask, subtly, when you'll be coming back for good," the older man had said as they sat down to eat.

"Subtly?"

"Yes."

Harry had laughed a little. "Right. And the answer hasn't changed."

Lupin had nodded, a little sad. "We all miss you."

"I miss you guys too," Harry had said. "Really."

"But you're still having fun."

Harry had nodded.

"Harry"

"Remus, I don't I'm not running away, okay. I still don't know what I want to do with my life, and I won't discover that here. Not with everyone watching me like I'm in a fishbowl. Not with the newspapers printing every single thing I do."

"Do you think that would still happen?"

"Remus, I'd only been in Diagon Alley for fifteen minutes when already, three reporters had spotted me and were asking me what I thought about the latest elections, and what I thought about the Minister's decision to create a new prison for lighter offences."

Lupin had sighed. "I know. I would have thought the fervour would have died down, with you away, but it didn't."

"That's okay. Well, most days. But the problem stays the same as when I left."

Lupin had looked resigned. "They're still thinking of you as a symbol," he had finished.

"And if they're asking these kinds of questions when they know I haven't been following the news from here Remus, they still want me to provide them with answers, and I'm just some kid who was marked for death by a dark wizard, and grew up in a cupboard, not learning much about people in the process."

"I could argue that no one is much of a psychologist at twenty."

"I know. But Remus, it's my choice to learn and make mistakes far away from the cameras and all the fuss. Can you imagine me getting a job shelving books in Britain? The reporters would come take pictures, ask me if that's my vocation, and At least, when I'm away, I can try that kind of thing without interference."

"Did you?"

"Yes."

"And?"

Harry had sniggered. "That's not what I'm meant to do, I think."

Lupin had smiled. "One down I know it's not easy for you here. I hope you know that we don't ask each time just to annoy you. We just miss you, and want to make sure you know that."

88888

The screams startled Harry from his distracted thoughts.

He had been having a nice evening, walking on the beach, under the stars, hearing the noise the waves made as they crashed on the sand, a few meters at his left. He loved beaches, he had learned early on in his travels. Especially in the dark, when no one was around to disturb the peace.

Except, apparently, this time.

He may have been looking for peace when he left England, but Harry hadn't become the kind of man to ignore a cry for help - he hadn't even become the kind of man who could understand people who refused to help their fellow humans.

He ran in the direction the screams had come from - there was no public lighting here, but the full moon was providing enough light to at least be able to orient himself and not stumble too much.

He found them under the pier, a good hundred meters from where he had been. The woman was lying on her back, her legs held down by the man's. Harry absently noted her sportswear clothes - she must have been jogging. Her attacker was holding her writs above her head with one hand, and with the other, he held a knife, which glittered in the light of the moon.

"_Muggles_?" Harry wondered. Wizards tended to attack with their wands, not with Muggle weapons. And, Harry thought, if the woman was a witch, she would have had her wand with her, and would have been more than able to defend herself.

The man was toying with his knife, smiling a crooked smile, and Harry was once again reminded that bad guys - and especially mediocre bad guys - often looked like caricatures of movie characters.

"Problem here?" Harry asked casually, as if he happened on what he suspected was an attempted rape every night.

Some people, he knew, were sarcastic in the face of danger. They joked, made cracks - their way to deal with the pressure. Once upon a time, he could have done the same. He found, however, that calm and detached worked better for him.

"HELP!" the woman screamed.

The man snorted and told Harry, "Get lost."

Not the smartest man in town, Harry thought. Unless he was deliberately trying to look obtuse - still possible, but unlikely.

"I don't think so," he said evenly.

"Please," the woman said.

"I said to be quiet," the man snarled.

"And you told me to get lost, and yet, none of us seem to be bowing to your superior knowledge of what you think is best," Harry pointed out.

The man looked lost. "_Too many complicated words_?" Harry wondered, and the thought sounded so much like Snape in his own mind that he almost smiled.

The woman arched backwards, trying to dislodge the man, who didn't budge.

Harry sighed. It was going to be one of these nights, he just could tell.

On the plus side, the man wouldn't be able to move well - if he let the woman go long enough to deal with Harry, he would be vulnerable. If he didn't move and continued to subdue the woman, Harry would just have to knock him out.

On the minus side, the guy was huge, and Harry had kept a Seeker's build - thin, and short. He was fast enough, but sheer muscle strength was not something that came naturally to him.

The man seemed to be pondering the same things Harry was. He looked up after a while. "One hundred dollars to let me finish here," he offered.

Once the first moment of astonishment had passed, Harry almost laughed. Almost.

"Man, I know this is California, but if you think everyone is for sale, think again," he said.

The man frowned. "Well, then," he said. And moved, so much faster than Harry would have expected, he almost let himself be surprised. He narrowly avoided the knife, and felt it scrape his left cheek as he threw himself to the ground. The man, carried forward by his momentum, stumbled. Harry jumped to his feet, blessing his slimness that allowed him to move faster, and kicked the man behind the knees. The man fell completely to the ground. Had he had a weapon of some kind - a tree branch, a staff, anything, Harry would have stayed and tried to knock him out. He could still, Harry thought, stun him, and let the official wizarding authorities obliviate him and the woman. And, if the man tried to catch them, he would. But he didn't want it to come to that. As it was, he merely shot one glance to the woman, who had used the diversion to get up.

"I hope you run fast," he said conversationally.

She nodded.

They ran.

888888

"This is my home," the woman - Sarah Winters - said in a trembling voice. Her hand was shaking so much she was having a hard time putting the key in the keyhole. Harry watched her fumble a moment, before stepping forward.

"May I?" he asked, taking the key.

She watched him warily, and he could tell she was still jumpy after her attack. Understandably, she must still be uncomfortable about letting a complete stranger enter her house. Even if the stranger had saved her life. She nodded, though, surprising Harry. He smiled reassuringly, took the key and opened the door, gesturing for her to enter. He made no move to follow her, though. She entered the house, then noticed he wasn't following, and looked at him.

"Come in," she said.

He hesitated. She repeated, more forcefully, "It's okay."

Harry followed her inside and closed the door.

The first thing that came to mind was that he was too used to motel rooms. He barely knew what to do with himself in a house now.

Sarah nodded to a door on his left. "Let's sit down," she said, looking much more at ease now. "I don't know about you, but I could use a chair, right now."

"Me too," he admitted.

The living room they entered was small and comfortable. Petunia Dursley had always kept her house immaculate, and the neatness of the rooms had always reminded Harry of a museum - something to look at, not use. The room he was in now felt more "lived in" for lack of a better word. There were books on shelves, on the table, and even one perched on the television. One title jumped out at him. "_The Art Of Potion Making_." He filed the information away for future reference, but now didn't seem like a good time to have the usual I'm-a-wizard-yes-wizardry-exists discussion.

The table was facing a fireplace, a couch and three chairs gathered around it. He dropped onto the closest chair. "Are you sure you're all right?" he asked.

She nodded. "He didn't do anything. He was just going to-" She shivered, and sat on the couch next to him, hugging herself. At a loss for what to do, Harry asked, "Perhaps you should call someone."

She swallowed. "My roommate will be here soon."

Harry nodded. "Good." There was a tense silence, and he said, "Do you want me to go or-?"

She shook her head. "No, sorry. I didn't even thank you yet."

He shrugged. "No problem."

She looked at him. "I've been mugged once before, and no one helped me. The man pulled a gun, yelled for my bag, I gave it to him, he punched me, I still don't know why-"

She cut herself off, and Harry said, "Probably because he could."

"Yes." She took a moment to gather herself. "Anyway, I was there on the sidewalk, bleeding from my lip, the man had gone, and people just walked past me. It was so depressing."

Harry nodded. "Guess so."

The front door opened brusquely, and Sarah started. Then a cheerful voice called, "You there, Sar?"

She smiled. "Over here!"

A young woman - no more than twenty-five, Harry estimated - blond, short, and literally bursting with energy, came into the room. "Hey, how come you're-" Her eyes fell on Harry, then on Sarah, who was still hunched over. "What's up?" she asked immediately.

"I I was" Sarah burst in tears, and without missing a beat, her friend, totally ignoring Harry for now, sat down next to her, and put an arm around her shoulder.

"Hey, what happened?" she asked.

Sarah gave a strangled sob, and Harry said softly, "I found her with a man, at the beach. He had a knife, and he was about to, er."

The roommate's eyes darkened. "I see," she said, and she hugged Sarah closer. "It's okay," she said soothingly.

Harry, feeling like an intruder watching the two, stood up. The roommate's eyes met his. "_Wait in the kitchen_," she mouthed. He nodded, and left the room.

88888

Feeling slightly uncomfortable in an unknown house, Harry sat on a chair and waited. He had been there for about ten minutes when the roommate came in, an antiseptic bottle and a cloth in her hands.

"She fell asleep," she said. "Without saying a word."

Harry nodded.

"Margaret Peterson," she said, offering him her hand to shake. "Don't call me Maggie, or, Merlin forbid, Marge."

He shook her hand, the "Merlin" registering. "Harry Potter," he said.

She gaped for all of three seconds, glanced at his scar, and said, "Really? Wow."

It was about as non an awed reaction as he had ever provoked, and Harry found he liked her already.

"Well, I won't have to find a way to explain why there are Potions books in the living room, at least," she said.

Harry smiled. "How do you usually?"

"I say I'm a witch, really."

He looked at her, surprised.

"People just assume I mean "Wicca," and think I make love potions upstairs, or whatever. Not that many strangers come here."

"And they don't ask for more details?"

"Well, sure, they do, but I read a little about Wicca, so I can answer convincingly enough."

Harry wished that excuse had ever occurred to him. In fact, he felt ashamed that it hadn't.

"So," Margaret said, sitting down next to him, "What happened to Sar?"

He began to tell the story, as she set about disinfecting the cut on his cheek - it wasn't deep, but it still stung. When she was done, she smiled a motherly smile at him, and for a moment, he thought she was going to pat him on the head and offer him a lollypop.

The thought was hilarious, and he bit back a laugh. If she noticed, she didn't say anything.

88888

Harry awoke the next day, in yet another hotel room. He had become familiar with those a long time ago - he barely remembered how exciting it had seemed, at the beginning, when every hotel seemed mysterious and filled with history.

They all looked pretty much the same to him now - a few stood out in his memory, either because the town they were in had been a favourite of his, or because he had stayed a long time in them.

He had gone back late last night - he had talked a long while to Margaret, recounting what had happened, and how Sarah had reacted.

"I'll probably take her to the police station tomorrow," she had said, "so she can file a deposition."

"Okay."

"If they find the guy, they may ask you to identify him," she had added.

He had shrugged, and said, "I travel a lot, but I have no plans for the following months. I can stay, if they need me."

"Thanks," she had said.

As she was leading him to the door, he had hesitated, not wanting to upset her. As if she had read her mind, she had said, "You're not as well known here as you are back in England," she had said. "If you don't want people to know you're here, I won't go babbling it to everyone. And even if I did, I don't think you'd have to face mass hysteria. From what I heard, that's pretty much what you're used to back in England?"

"Yes. And thanks," he had said, sincerely.

"That's okay. But Our friends are all very protective of Sarah. She's a Muggle, but her sister was a witch - a dear friend of ours. She died three years ago, and Sarah we all love her, and she stayed in touch with us."

He had nodded, unsure where this was going.

"The guys will probably want to thank you themselves," she had said. "So, perhaps, once, we could have diner, and you know"

He had nodded. "I think I'd like that," he had said. "If you want to." He found both Margaret and Sarah very nice, even in such dire circumstances, and he wouldn't mind talking a little with friendly people. He was used to solitude, but sometimes, even he needed human contact.

He had met many friendly and interesting people, as a matter of fact. Some had never heard of him, some had heard vague stories. Some knew he was a big thing in England, but didn't seem to understand why, and when he met those, he wished Snape could see it - the man would certainly be amused.

Once, he had travelled with a couple of French journalists. Muggle ones. They had been in Laos at the same time, and in the same hotel. They had had a talk - both were aware of the wizarding world, and intrigued by Harry. Then, they had gone their separate ways, and met again one week later, in Viet Nam. They had laughed at the coincidence. Three weeks later, they met again, in China. They compared their itineraries for the following two months, found out they planned to visit the same countries, and decided to travel together for a while. He had enjoyed their discussions - he had learned more about the Muggle world in those two months than in most of his time with the Dursleys.

On another occasion, he had visited a country - Russia - with a wizard travelling companion. The man was from Japan, and was venturing outside his country for the first time. Harry had enjoyed giving him tips on the art of blending in with a crowd, and advice to avoid being hassled.

There had also been people who had offered him hospitality - Daoud, in Egypt, the second time he had visited the place. Sebastian in Spain. And Nassir, in Saudi Arabia, who had been so very insistent that Harry learn to ride a horse properly.

Some of these people he could call friends, he thought.

For the last six months, however, he had travelled without a companion, and he was beginning to feel lonely, instead of merely alone.

It was time, he told himself, for a little socialising.

88888

Which was why, two days later, he rang the bell at Sarah's home. Margaret had left a note for him at the hotel's front desk, inviting him over.

Sarah opened the door, and beamed up at him. "My saviour," she said, laughing slightly.

"Hi," he said cheerfully. "How are you doing?"

She nodded. "Pretty good, considering." Her smile faltered briefly. "I think the worst of it is that the man was stupid."

Harry bit his lip to keep from laughing. She looked at him sheepishly. "Sounds stupid, I know. How dare someone so unoriginal attack me?"

Harry did laugh at that. "Understandable," he said. "I don't like bullies, myself. Never imaginative, these people."

Sarah brightened. "Everyone's already there." She motioned for him to go in, and lead him to the kitchen, where "everyone" was sitting around the table.

Margaret called laughingly, "Hey. Hope you don't have anything against pizza. None of us can cook worth a damn."

The delivery guy arrived as Sarah was finishing introducing him to the others, and Harry tried to commit the information to memory.

Two tall men, Alex and John - Alex was a teacher, John was a writer, and Harry had the strong feeling that they were a couple, although nothing was said precisely.

One short, bulky man, with the bluest eyes Harry had ever seen, and who definitely had a crush on Sarah - Roland, yet another teacher.

One woman, a redhead, about the same size as Harry, called Regan. She worked with the Ministry, she explained. The American equivalent of Aurors.

They all seemed pretty curious about him, and as the pizzas were divided between them and they began to eat, Harry sustained several veiled questions - and several not so veiled ones as well.

They covered what had happened to Sarah - "Both the ministry and the Muggle authorities are aware of that guy, and they're looking for him," Regan said.

They talked about their jobs - Margaret was a teacher at the same school Alex and Roland were teaching at. Harry, used to a school where the teachers were much older, was a little surprised to see so many people his own age in a teacher's role, but didn't say anything.

Then, as they finished eating, and settled outside, on the grass, to drink and talk some more, one of them asked directly if he really was "the" Harry Potter they had all read about.

Harry shrugged. "If you mean the guy who defeated Voldemort, yes."

"Wow," Regan said. There was a silence, then she said, almost shyly, "Don't take this the wrong way, but we never heard anything after, well, that. I had assumed"

"That I worked in law enforcement, myself?"

"Well, yes."

He shook his head. "I thought about it. But I had had enough of it."

"It?" Sarah asked.

"The killing. People dying. People looking at me as if I was the ultimate answer to all their problems."

Regan looked apologetic. "Sorry," she said.

"It's okay."

"But," John threw in, "The war didn't last that long, did it?"

Sirius's face flashed in front of Harry's eyes, and he answered, "Long enough."

There was a slightly uncomfortable silence, and Harry wondered if he shouldn't have stayed at the hotel. Margaret, perhaps feeling the way his thoughts were heading, asked, "What have you done since then?"

"Travelled a lot. I went to pretty much every country I could get into, really. Muggle way, wizard way"

It had been fun to discover just how wizards went from one country to another, Harry reflected. The use of Portkeys was strictly regulated by the Ministries, and by the International Confederation of Wizards - a good thing, as Harry had heard, more than once, about unsuspecting travellers using inadequate Portkeys and landing in the middle of an ocean, or a desert.

Apparition was all well and good over short distances, but it tended to be tiresome, and Harry didn't like to try it in foreign lands, where he didn't understand the language, in case an accident happened. And Apparition was simply impossible over long distances, or to cross an ocean.

Floo travel was practical when going from an hotel to another landmark in the same town, but couldn't be used to cross borders - it would have been too easy for criminals to leave the country that way, someone had once told Harry.

Harry had more than once travelled on his broom - he had found that that transportation method was particularly relaxing above deserts, like in Egypt and in Australia. But, much as he liked flying, Harry didn't trust a broom to cross an ocean.

So, the International Confederation of Wizards proposed two alternatives; the WizShip, and the WizAir. The WizShip company owned five MagiBoats, the WizAir owned twenty planes. Both worked on the same principle as the Knight Bus. It lead the passengers from one place to another in a series of Apparitions. Harry had tried both, and found they had the same inconveniences as the Knight Bus. The travel was noisy, shaky, and, to him, nausea-inducing. It was fun over relatively short distances, or when he needed to move fast from one place to the other. On the whole, though, he preferred Muggle transportations methods - much less jarring.

"You must miss England a lot," Margaret said, interrupting his thoughts.

Harry shrugged. "Sometimes, I get a little homesick, yes. But I don't have family there, just friends, and they're living their lives."

It had been slightly saddening to feel the growing distance between him and Ron and Hermione. They were married, had two kids now, and while they still wrote to each other, the letters were growing increasingly superficial with the years. It was inevitable, he supposed. He didn't know anything about their lives, they knew little about his own, and the experiences they went through were difficult to relate to.

They were still friends, and he still saw them several times a year. He didn't feel unwelcome in their home - be it at the Burrow or their London house. But the camaraderie that had bound them all those years ago had not vanished, Harry decided, but, attenuated.

The Weasleys were still the only family he had ever felt he had. Harry's investments in the twin's shop had grown more important, Molly still mothered him when he visited, Charlie and Bill still teased him like a long lost baby brother. He was grateful to have them, and Lupin, when he went to England.

"Must be lonely," Alex said.

Harry smiled. "I'm still in touch. I still go visit sometimes. They're living their lives, and frankly, so am I. And travelling means meeting people."

"As today brilliantly demonstrates," John said.

As if on impulse, Alex leaned over and kissed John. The others sniggered, and Harry smiled a little. "Shut up," Alex said.

"Is that an order, mister?"

"Oh, for crying out loud!" Regan said. "Get a room, you two."

Everyone laughed at her disgusted tone, and Harry met Sarah's eyes. She was considering him. "What?" he asked.

"You don't seem too horrified by our antics."

He snorted. "Nope."

Margaret smile. "Then, can we count on your presence, a few more times? As long as you stay in the neighbourhood?"

Not knowing what he was getting into, he said, "Sure."


	8. Chapter 8 : The School

**A Thousand Fibres  
**  
Helen C.

_Rating : PG-13_

Summary : After Voldemort's defeat, Harry finds himself finally free to do what he wants. Now, if only he knew what he wants...

Spoilers : All five books are fair game.

Disclaimer : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Acknowledgements : Many thanks to Emily, who beta'd this and to Sharon, for her help on the first chapter.  


* * *

_Chapter Eight : The School  
_

It had been four weeks since Harry had met Sarah. Her attacker had been caught by the police, Harry and Sarah had both been called to identify him, and the trial was scheduled to take place in two weeks. According to the district attorney, Harry probably wouldn't have to testify. However, she still asked him to stay nearby, just in case.

It was obvious that Sarah was terrified at the idea of testifying. She never talked about it, but Harry could tell how shy she was. The idea of telling a room full of people what had happened was truly upsetting her. However, as Regan pointed out, the idea of letting the guy go without a fight was even more upsetting.

In an attempt to distract Sarah, Margaret decided to take her and Harry to visit the school where she taught.

"It's North of San Francisco," Margaret explained. "Really, there's the town, and just as soon as you're clear of it, there's us. Just a two hour drive, but we'll take a Portkey." Sarah paled, and Margaret smiled. "Not her favourite method of travel," she told Harry.

Harry could sympathize. It had never been his favourite method either - give him a broom, any time of the day. Something he could control.

"I hate driving. And cars. And everything related," Margaret explained.

"Oh."

"Sarah already visited the school, with Lizzie."

Lizzie being the dead sister. Harry had noticed early on that, even though the group didn't avoid talking about her, they seldom did. Each time her name was mentioned, there seemed to be a sadness in their eyes that made Harry loath to ask questions. This time was no exception. He nodded his assent to the Portkey idea, pushing all thoughts of the Third Task strongly away from his mind. He had never developed a phobia of Porkeys, thankfully, but he thought of that night every time he used one. And he certainly didn't like to think about it.

The jerking sensation behind his navel wasn't any less unnerving than Harry remembered. He stumbled to stay on his feet when he arrived. He had landed in a vast park, with trees planted to delimitate the borders of the He didn't know just how vast the space was, but estimated it to be about the size of the Quidditch pitch. There were a few fountains, and benches, dispersed on the grass. It was all very neat, Harry thought. Neat, green, fresh. Sunny, too. He liked it. It was relaxing.

He could see buildings behind the tree line - not high ones, not as high as Hogwarts.

Margaret appeared next to him, Sarah squeezing her hand. The two women took a moment to orient themselves, then Margaret motioned for Harry to follow her as she commented and explained what he saw.

Up close, the buildings were not as modern as Harry had thought - nor as small. It was an old school. The walls were made of stone and wood, but not as dark or cold as Hogwarts had been - perhaps due to the Californian sun. Harry was strongly reminded of Italy - perhaps it was the sense of history that seemed to permeate the place, or the general appearance of the school, with its pale stones, green trees and the sunny and blue sky above.

The main building was four stories high, and formed a huge square. "There are parks outside," Margaret said. "Surrounding the main building. With a few annexes - greenhouses, an area where the students can study outside, weather permitting. Then, there's, well, the building itself. And inside, the inner park, where we 'landed.' It's the playground for the younger students."

"And the older ones?"

"Go in the outside parks, or sometimes, come here too."

"Even during winter?"

Margaret smiled. "Magic," she said mischievously. "The inner playground is charmed to remain warm, even during winter. The tree leaves fall, and the sky looks the same as outside, but the temperature never goes below sixty-eight degrees. And, of course, sometimes, the younger students go in the park, assuming they're supervised by older students, or teachers. It all depends on the workload and the availability of everyone."

Harry nodded. "How old are the students?"

Margaret smiled. "We teach some kids who are about six."

"Six?"

She smiled. "Yeah, the school accepts kids from eleven to eighteen to train purely in magic - although, of course, spelling, grammar and sometimes math are evaluated via the assignments."

Harry nodded. "It was that way at Hogwarts too." He thought back about some of the scathing comments Snape sometimes wrote on his essays, disparaging his handling of English and his knowledge of potions in one fell swoop.

"And the younger students learn the basics; reading, writing, mathematics, geography, history - Muggle, and some wizarding as well. We also give some very basic facts about potions, the magical theory, and so on, when they're almost eleven."

"Wow," he said.

Margaret smiled. "I teach English to the six to eleven ones. Roland teaches Potions, to all the eleven to seventeen. Alex is the Muggle studies professor. There's also an optional class, for the Muggle born students who want to learn more about the wizarding world."

Harry sighed. "That would have been quite useful at Hogwarts," he said.

"We have fewer students too - there are more schools in the US than in England, really. Some better than others. We're not a prestigious school, exactly, but nothing to joke about either." She looked at him curiously. "Hogwarts accepts only the best and the brightest, from what I've heard."

Harry shrugged. "It is a slightly elitist school, yes. But not as much as you might imagine. Not everyone there was gifted for all kinds of magic. Even I was, at best, a mediocre student."

She raised her eyebrow in surprise. "Really?"

"Academic work was never my cup of tea. I learn better by doing than by reading. I'm not the kind of guy who goes research something. I find someone more knowledgeable than I am, and ask him."

She hooked her arm in his elbow. "Roland is that way, too," she said. "There's nothing wrong with that."

"I know. I'm just saying, yeah, the kids who go to Hogwarts are pretty gifted, but I'm sure there are others who are as much so, and couldn't enter, for lack of money, or because they didn't want to go to a boarding school, or whatever reason. It actually took me a while to realise just how many wizards never even receive a normalised education, yet still manage."

"It's an on-going debate, around here. Is one way better than the other?"

A man's voice from behind startled them. "Not that again, Marge, please."

Margaret made a face, and turned, Harry following her lead. "Harry, meet Julius Sanderson, our headmaster. Jules, this is Harry Potter."

Harry had a slight feeling of forbearing. He shook the man's hand, smiling politely. Julius was young to be headmaster, but then, Harry supposed that pretty much summed up the whole school. Somehow, his memories from Hogwarts had left him associating academia with maturity, but the energy of this whole school was very different.

Julius smiled and invited the three of them to take a coffee.

He was tall, and imposing. His hair and his short beard were grey, but a distinguished grey - much like Lupin's, who managed to age gracefully, despite the curse that affected him. Harry, who was looking for the best way to describe the man, finally decided on "charismatic." He had the feeling it must be difficult to refuse Julius anything.

Once they were all settled in a room - the teacher's lounge, Margaret said - Julius politely asked a few questions about what Harry had learned in his travels. The story about the way an old man in a village in China had insisted on selling Harry a hair-flattening lotion amused him greatly. "Obviously," said Harry, passing a hand in his untamed hair, "I didn't use it."

"But you bought it?"

"Er, yeah, well, the man was insistent."

Julius smiled. "Well, that's not so bad," he said.

"Certainly."

"No dark wizard jumping on you, in back alleys?" Julius asked. "You are, after all, known everywhere."

Harry shrugged. "I tend to avoid back alleys. And, thankfully, my notoriety, such as it is, is fairly limited outside England. Most people had heard of me, and knew about Voldemort. But mostly, they seemed to wonder how the scrawny kid with glasses had managed to off Voldemort."

Sarah laughed. "That must have been frustrating."

"Well, I did leave England partly to escape fame, so it was a break, actually. In England, yes, people still remember."

"As it should be, don't you think?" Julius asked. "As long as they remember, they know not to let a disaster like Voldemort happen a third time."

"I suppose," Harry replied. He wasn't convinced. Did anyone ever truly learn lessons from history? After all, a first war against Voldemort hadn't stopped a second one, and the very people who had worked at the reconstruction the first time had made things easier for Voldemort the second time around.

"You travelled around the world for five years, and you didn't have one rough patch?" Margaret asked, not for the first time since Harry had met her.

"I had read a little before going, about what to do and what not to do. I tend to blend in, a lot," Harry said. He blamed the Dursleys for that, but the gift of becoming almost invisible had come in handy a few times. "And I was in contact with the Ministries, and with the Muggle embassy - thankfully, growing up with Muggles, I had records of my existence, and didn't have to create them from scratch. But, yes, I had a few bad moments. I fell ill in India. Hepatitis. By the time I made it to an acceptable hospital, I was really sick. And in Egypt, I ate something I shouldn't have and ended up with blood poisoning."

"What did you do?"

Harry smiled ruefully. "I owled a teacher of mine, the Potions Master of Hogwarts, and asked him if he wouldn't happen to have a remedy somewhere. He came deliver it." And Harry had had to endure a lesson on his stupidity, and about taking care of himself. But when he had fallen back asleep, exhausted by the four day fever, he had caught a glimpse of concern on the other man's face.

Sarah had been enjoying the discussion in silence, and when she spoke up, Harry realised she, too, knew how to make people forget she was there.

"I'm sorry, but All the others have said you're well known in England, and I've read some books too."

Harry couldn't hide his dismayed reaction at that. He still felt self conscious when people told him they had read about him - especially in books. He was always tempted to point out that books should concern important people, not, well, him.

Sarah bit her lip. "If you don't want to answer, that's okay, but You know, I grew up in Los Angeles, and I saw the way people are with stars. Chasing them for signings, for pictures, for a word. And I can't imagine you as the star."

Margaret looked amused, Harry noted. Perhaps she had wondered the same thing. That, or she was amused at Sarah's way of putting it.

"They didn't chase me for signings," Harry said. "Except for one annoying exception, but that was just one kid."

Julius threw in, "You mean a kid at your school actually asked you-"

Harry sniggered. "I was in second year, he was a year behind. And yes, as soon as he arrived, he ran after me, taking pictures." He blushed. "Including, once, in my sixth year, as I was going out of the shower after a Quiddictch match, and I made him regret that dearly."

Julius laughed, a rich sound that made Harry want to laugh too, and Sarah covered her mouth with her hand.

"And a few times, he asked me to sign a picture he had taken."

Julius filled the cups again, and Harry went on, "He was, really, the only one to do that. Although his brother was annoying too."

"But it must have been more than that, if you hated it so much?"

Harry nodded. "It was the newspapers. Well, the _Daily Prophet_, really. It was the one the most people read, and believed blindly. Each time an unfavourable article was published, people treated me like a pariah. And each time the _Daily Prophet _said I was a good guy after all, they treated me like I was made of glass, like I was their saviour."

The _Prophet_, Harry thought, had made more for his reputation than Dumbledore ever had. People followed its lead. If the _Prophet _was interested in Harry Potter, then Harry Potter must be interesting.

"I'd like to say that people are stupid for following newspapers that way, but I suppose we're all guilty of doing that, from time to time," Margaret said.

"Yeah, well, each time I go home, I still get reporters following me, asking me what I think of the latest match England played, or of the new Minister, or whatever the latest headline is."

Julius finished. "And you're just a normal guy, who happens to have been thrust in a position where you had to deal with all the hype."

"Pretty much."

Sarah giggled. "Out of the shower?"

Harry blushed. "We won't mention this again," he said. "Ever."

"Sure," Margaret said, and Harry had the feeling that all the others would know by the next morning.

He sighed, but he had to admit that he had handed that one to her.

8888

Hedwig was perched on a chair, the next morning, when Harry woke up. She had been out for a week, which meant she had gone to England. She never seemed tired, even after such long distances, and he wondered if magical owls truly flew all the way to their destinations, or if they took shortcuts. Granted, they often seemed tired after a long trip, but what bird would be capable of a transatlantic flight without dying of exhaustion? Or were magical birds merely more robust than Muggle ones?

There was a letter tied to her foot, and he took it, before setting a few owl treats and a bowl of water on the table, so she could rest.

The letter was from Lupin. Harry groaned. He hadn't written in a while, caught up with his new friends, and felt vaguely like a bad son.

He ordered breakfast in, and settled on the bed to read it.

_"Dear Harry,_

I haven't heard from you in a while. I hope you're all right. I know you tell the embassy where you are, and they would have alerted us, but we all worry, especially after the few times you fell ill.

Everything is going just fine in England. I have found a job, as a teacher, in a school near Edinburgh. Not as upper level as Hogwarts, obviously, but then, few schools are. I find myself enjoying this a lot. You know I've done a little of everything, along the years, but teaching has always stayed a favourite of mine.

Some kids here remind me a lot of three famous Hogwarts students - always sticking their heads in the Lion's mouth. They would have been Gryffindors, I think. It's strange how I keep drawing parallels between what I see now, and what happened then.

Believe it or not, but we just spent a week without one single word about you in the newspapers. I hope you don't feel too rejected upon hearing that."

Harry chuckled, imagining Lupin's smile as he wrote this.

_"Of course, that may be because Minister Bones said she would build that new prison, Dementors free, for the wizards who commit light infractions. About damn time, you're probably thinking, and I agree with you. The _Daily Prophet's _redactors are scandalized - here are people who should have been replaced after they refused to acknowledge Voldemort's return until it came to bite them in the ass."  
_

Harry's eyebrows shot up. It wasn't often that Lupin criticized anything so overtly. The man was rather subdued - probably a consequence of having spent all his life mastering his instincts, and trying to appear as non threatening as possible, to increase his chances of being accepted.

_"Whatever the reason, I thought you would like to know that, for the first time in, how many years has it been? Well, we spent a week without an article on you._

Congratulations!

Severus came by the other day - he is still furnishing me with Wolfsbane potion. He is still as sour as ever, but Minerva says he's mellowing. I mentioned in passing that you seemed fine last time I had seen you, and that you had been heading to the USA then. He snarled that he didn't see how that was supposed to matter to him, but I think I saw a flicker of interest on his face.

I may have imagined it, but perhaps Minerva is right. I hear he is less vindictive with the Gryffindors than he used to be - perhaps he realised, with you and your friends gone, that he was bored?"  


Harry tried to picture Snape patiently explaining something to a Gryffindor first year, and just about laughed out loud. The man would be even more frightening if he tried to be kind and understanding.

_"Yes, I know, unlikely._

Well, I think that is enough for now. I'm sure Molly will write to you soon. In the meantime, she and all the Weasleys give you their regards, and ask when you're coming to visit.

Take good care of yourself, Harry.

Love,  
Remus L."  


Harry smiled and tucked the letter into a backpack. The floor waiter brought him his breakfast and Harry sat down to eat, already writing a reply in his head.

8888

Another month passed, without Harry deciding to go back on the road. The trial of Sarah's aggressor came and went, Sarah testifying, and the DA obtaining a conviction.

"Not nearly as much as it should have been," Regan seethed after the verdict.

Harry cynically thought that, had the guy actually managed to rape Sarah, he would have been more heavily punished. "Yes," he said. "Not nearly." Especially since, according to Margaret, Sarah still had nightmares about him.

School session began, and Roland, Alex and Margaret became less present. The school they worked at allowed students to either board or go home every day, so only about half the students stayed between holidays - and sometimes on holidays too. The student body being less important than at Hogwarts, the teachers weren't all required to stay at all times. Usually, Margaret stayed the first two weeks of the months, Roland the last two weeks, and Alex came back every weekend, and sometimes during the week, to see John. None of them seemed too set on their schedule, though. When John was hitting a rough patch in the writing of his book, he isolated himself and Alex spent three weeks without leaving the school grounds. Margaret had already warned Harry that, with the end of term exams, she wouldn't leave the school the whole month, as she tended to be short tempered then.

Then, one day, an owl arrived at the hotel for Harry. Julius was asking him if he could interest Harry in a job in the school.

Harry couldn't say he hadn't seen it coming - he would have had to have been blind, deaf and stupid to miss the hints Alex had dropped at his last visit, saying that the current Defence teacher was a goon, an idiot, and an incompetent, and that he was soon going to get fired.

He didn't know whether to smile or sigh, as he accepted Julius's invitation, for the next day.

He had had a feeling on their first meeting that it would be difficult to refuse the man anything.

He was going to find out very soon whether he had been right.


	9. Chapter 9: Staying

**A Thousand Fibres  
**  
Helen C.

_Rating : PG-13_

_Summary : After Voldemort's defeat, Harry finds himself finally free to do what he wants. Now, if only he knew what he wants..._

_Spoilers : All five books are fair game._

_Disclaimer : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

_Acknowledgements : Many thanks to Emily, who beta'd this and to Sharon, for her help on the first chapter._

* * *

___Chapter Nine : Staying  
_

"So, Julius offered you a job?" were the first words out of Margaret's mouth when Harry sat down. He had come to visit Sarah, and hadn't been surprised to see that Margaret was there tonight.

"Yes."

"Are you going to accept?"

He hesitated a little before shaking his head. "I don't think so."

Margaret frowned at him. Sarah looked at her, then at Harry, and got up hurriedly. "I need to go running."

Margaret and Harry waited in silence as Sarah went upstairs, then came back down a few minutes later. "Bye!" she yelled.

"She said she'd never be able to convince you to do anything," Margaret offered, once the door had closed on Sarah. "She said she considers you a hero, and she's a little intimidated."

"Is that why she's always so shy around me?"

"Yes."

Harry nodded, thinking about Ginny, who had been much the same way.

"I'm not intimidated," Margaret said bluntly.

Harry smiled. "I noticed."

"So? Why aren't you going to accept?"

"I don't know," he said. "I guess it would be accepting to stay here for a year and-"

"What, you don't like it here?"

At her hurt tone, Harry hastened to say, "No, I love it here! I just…"

He had no idea how to express what was only a vague feeling. She waited patiently for him to put his thoughts in order. "For five years now," he said at last, "I haven't stayed in the same place for more than a few months, at most."

"I gathered that."

"When I left England, there wasn't any doubt in my mind that I would go back one day. I kept thinking, every time I arrived in a new country, 'After this one, perhaps.' And it never came up, but…"

"But it would be a commitment to stay here?"

"Yes." He added wryly, "And I miss English rain like you wouldn't believe."

She thought for a moment, ignoring his last comment, then looked at him seriously. "Okay. I get that, I do. You're not the first person to like travelling. I just wonder, don't you ever get lonely?"

"Yes, of course I do. But I met people, I have friends in, well, quite a few countries now."

She nodded.

"Especially you and the others," he added with a smile.

She brightened a little. "Good."

"And then, I know I can always go back. I have friends in England, who I'm sure would be glad to see me."

She looked lost, and he sighed. "I think I'm scared."

The proverbial penny seemed to drop. "You think, if you mention you're thinking of settling elsewhere-"

"They'll be hurt, because they'll think I won't come back," Harry finished. "Or they'll…"

She finished for him when he trailed off. "Forget you?"

He shrugged. "I guess."

She snorted. "You're not an easily forgettable guy, Harry," she said. "If they're really your friends, it won't matter if you decide to spend some time away."

"No, I know." He shook his head. "I'm not sure what I'm trying to say."

She looked at him for a long moment, before saying, "Why don't you give it a try for a few months? If, when Christmas arrives, you still feel like leaving the country, you can still tell Julius to find someone else to do the job."

"I'd feel bad leaving him like that."

"He wouldn't mind. Believe me. He wants to work with you, and something tells me he'd accept to do a lot of concessions for that."

Harry felt his eyebrows rise of their own accord.

"He says you're an 'intriguing fellow', I think, were his words."

Harry smiled at that. "I'll think about it, okay?"

"That's all I'm asking you to do."

_888888888888888_

The next Saturday, the whole gang decided to go to Los Angeles to celebrate Roland's birthday. Harry announced that he would join them later, without giving details, and they gave him directions so he could find them on the beach.

When Harry arrived, his mood was lighter than it had been in weeks, and he was hiding a parchment behind his back.

As he approached, he overheard Sarah asking, "And is he going to accept the job?" and Margaret answering, "What do you want me to say? I have no idea, okay!"

Then Roland spotted Harry and elbowed Margaret sharply, smiling apologetically at her glare.

"Hey," Harry said.

"Hey," they chorused back.

Harry stood there awkwardly, and Margaret huffed. "Oh, really! Tell us, please!"

He smiled nervously. "Remember when I told you I missed the rain?"

She nodded.

"I may have been exaggerating. A little."

He handed her the parchment. She read the first two lines, squealed, jumped to her feet and threw herself at his neck. Harry, who hadn't expected such a reaction, fell, with Margaret still clinging to him. They landed on the sand, while the others either laughed or whistled.

When she let go of him, Harry grimaced slightly, as sand was not exactly a soft material to land on. Margaret stood up and took Harry's hand to help him up. "Ow," he said, resisting the urge to rub his bum, which had taken the worst of the shock.

All the others either shook his hand or hugged him, saying that they were glad he was staying and that they hoped he'd stay for a long time. Harry smiled and thanked them, feeling a little overwhelmed by all the attention. He was relieved when they began to eat from the basket they had prepared and the conversation went from his future job to Roland's birthday.

The evening was loud and boisterous, full of laughter, bad jokes, and camaraderie. When Harry awoke the next day, he had the worst hangover of his life. He was also as happy as he had been in the last five years - more relaxed, somehow, as if making a decision, any decision, had lifted a weight off his shoulders he hadn't even known was there.

When he had begun travelling, he had found some jobs, here and there, but nothing that really caught his interest. So, eventually, he had stopped looking, and decided that when what he was meant to do with his life would cross his path, he would know it. It only now occurred to him that by moving all the time, he may have missed opportunities.

Of course, perhaps he would hate the work, and not want to pursue it. But, at least, he would have given it a try.

Time would tell, and he had all the time in the world.

88888888888888888888

Harry had expected the teacher's position to be challenging and it was, although not necessarily as he had envisioned.

He had been prepared to deal with students who worried about being ready for their exams, who worried about knowing whether the new teacher would be nice or an ass, who worried about the workload he would dump on them.

He had worried he would be too nice, or too harsh. He had worried about his students being ready for their exams. He had worried that he would look stupid, that he would re-explain things they already knew and not explain things they didn't know. He had worried about them laughing him off. He had worried about doing a decent job.

He hadn't expected their first question to be, "Are you really Harry Potter? **The** Harry Potter?"

He had spent more time around the magical community in California than he usually did while travelling, but apart from a few he-looks-familiar-where-have-I-seen-that-guy-before looks, he had been pretty unnoticed. He hadn't expected children and teenagers to know who he was.

"Yes, that's me," he said, a little unsure.

"Wow. We learned all about you in our Contemporary History of Magic class," a girl said, in a tone that made Harry wonder if she was Hermione's long lost sister.

He felt vaguely stung. He knew there were books that talked about him, but the events of his years in Hogwarts were still very fresh in his mind. It seemed odd that to these kids, it was **history**, no matter how contemporary.

"Er, yes," he said, for lack of anything better to say.

"Was that Voldemort really a bad guy?"

Harry thought of his schoolmates, who had shivered each time he used the name, and smiled a little. Even if these kids hadn't been raised knowing Voldemort's name was a big taboo, it was still refreshing to hear someone ask the question without dropping his tone, without looking over his shoulder, and without goggling at him. They were curious, but not aggressively so.

"Yes, he was," he said plainly.

"Wow," said another.

And so, Harry spent his first day of classes answering this kind of question, while trying to determine what parts of the curriculum his predecessor had already covered.

8888888888888888888

"You've never read the books or the papers about you?" Alex asked that evening, as he and Harry sat down in the teacher's lounge with coffee and copies to grade .

"No."

"I'd be too curious to resist, if it was me they talked about."

Something in his tone caught Harry's attention. "Let me guess. You read those books?"

Alex blushed. "Yes, after Margaret introduced us."

Harry waved his hand in dismissal. "That's okay."

"Really? Because you seem pretty unwilling to talk about it."

Harry snorted. "Yeah, well, people back in England tend to be very curious about it. It grew old really fast."

Alex looked curious. "I can't really imagine what it's like in the other countries you visited. Were people unaware of who you were?"

"Most people outside Europe, yes. They knew the story, but they didn't see my face in every newspaper for years, so they didn't associate the story with a tourist." He had to add, "Those who did know, because they study these sort of things, or because they're in the fight-against-the-dark-arts business, were curious, yes. As if they hadn't realised that the stories were really true. They had all sorts of questions about what it means to live in wartime."

Alex started. "Wartime seems so bleak," he said. "I don't think of it in those terms."

Harry laughed. "Me neither. It was just the way my life was. And it didn't mean much to me, except my friends were in danger, and I couldn't go anywhere without bodyguards."

Alex grimaced. "All this at, what? Fifteen?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah."

"I can understand why you don't read about it."

"Well, I don't, but I can understand why people who meet me do. I guess, if one of my friends was talked about in history books, I'd like to read them too. And, after all, I read John's novels. It's not exactly the same thing, but I was curious too."

Julius entered the room then, and came to sit with the two teachers. "It's late," he said by way of greeting.

Harry smiled. "Trying to impress the boss by staying late at the office," he explained, not entirely joking. He didn't know what the rules here were, precisely. He had opted to live on the school grounds, at least until the holidays, when he would decide whether the job agreed with him or not. He didn't mind hotel rooms but several months in one was a stretch, even for him.

"There's no need, really," Julius answered. "A good bottle of aged firewhiskey will do the trick just fine."

"Don't listen to him," Alex said. "I did, and ended up supervising all the school's outings for three years. 'That'll teach you to try to corrupt me,' he said." Alex put on a sad face. "And there I was, just trying to thank him for all his attentions. Cause, really, he is a man full of consideration, Harry." He looked Julius in the eyes. "You're great, boss."

Julius had put his hands on his hips mid-rant, and was frowning at Alex. "Hum, I see three years was too good for you," he said.

Alex made a show of recoiling, but spoke in an even tone. "Oh, no, not the school outings again, please, please, have mercy," he said, without dropping his papers - or his cup of coffee.

Julius considered him before reluctantly saying, "Very well. As long as the offence is not repeated."

"Oh, thanks boss," Alex said, smiling. He dropped his eyes to the assignments again and Julius turned to Harry.

"Do not be frightened, young teacher," he said soothingly. "I'm only hard on people like Alex, there." He sat down, and Harry half expected the man to start patting his knee, but Julius merely asked, "So, how did you find your first day?"

Harry met his eyes. "Okay, mostly."

Alex chuckled. "He's peeved because he learned that he's a history subject."

Harry pouted. "Oh, you laugh." He sighed. "This twelve year kid was looking at me like I was an exhibit in a museum, and I felt positively ancient."

"Poor thing," Alex commiserated.

Harry resisted a strong urge to stick out his tongue at him. ___"Damn_," he thought, _"__if this is the maturity level I've reached after one day, what is it going to be in three months?_" 

8888888888888888888888888

One month after Harry had begun the job, an owl arrived at the school. Harry was watching over the youngest students, who were playing in the outside park.

The owl circled above them, seeming pitch black against the blue sky. She slowly descended toward Harry, who extended an arm. The owl perched on it, and he took a moment to admire her dark brown feathers.

Then, his eyes fell on the letter she carried. A letter sporting the Hogwarts crest.

88888888888888888888888

Margaret came to see Harry at the end of her morning classes. He was lying on a bench, staring at the sky. He had come here as soon as his last class was over, an hour ago, and had not moved since.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey."

She sat on the grass. "What's up?"

Without a word, he took the letter that rested on his chest and held it to her. She sat on the grass to read.

The letter was from Professor McGonagall. It was short and to the point.

_"__Dear Harry,_

___I'm sorry to bother you, I'm sure you must be very busy (Remus told us you had just begun a teaching job) but I'm afraid Albus doesn't have much time left._

___I think, Harry, that he would like to see for himself how well you are doing, before he dies._

___Understand that no one will think any less of you if it is impossible for you to come - Remus was opposed to this letter, saying you had enough on your plate already. I felt you should have a chance to come and say goodbye, should you wish to._

___Sincerely,  
Minerva McGonagall._"

After a long silence, Margaret spoke up. "You never talk about it, you know."

Harry didn't answer.

"You talk about Hogwarts, what kind of classes you had, your friends and the twins, and what kind of innocent mischief you lot got into."

"Yeah."

"But we're not stupid, and we know it can't have been as innocent. Not if we believe what the books say."

Harry sighed and closed his eyes. He had thought he had moved past all that a long while ago, but the past, Harry was beginning to learn, had a strange way of coming to bite you in the ass when you least expected it. "When my parents died, it fell on Dumbledore to decide what to do with me. As my Mum had died to protect me, he thought my best chance was to create wards around the last blood relative I had." He paused a moment to gather his thoughts. "My last remaining blood relative happened to be my Mum's sister, who hated my parents, magic, and everything related. She resented my presence. I think she had finally made a life for herself that she liked, with a husband, a son, and a nice house. And then I arrived."

Margaret got to her feet and patted his leg. He raised his knees so she could sit on the bench. "Your relatives? Did they abuse you?" she asked.

That was Margaret, he thought. Never one to beat around the bush. "Define abuse." He sighed. "They didn't feed me enough, they made me sleep in a cupboard until I was eleven, they never really let me have friends before I went to Hogwarts."

Those were facts. But facts didn't say anything about the loneliness he had felt then, as he sat in the dark, hearing his relatives celebrating holidays, birthdays, while he wondered why he didn't deserve to be with them. Facts didn't say anything about his fear of being rejected, or about his longing for a family.

"They never really crossed the line," he added. "Never beat me up - although it was sometimes borderline. I think they were scared I'd involuntarily turn them into frogs, or something."

"I'd say they crossed the line, but whatever," Margaret said. She rested a hand on his upraised knee. "Did Dumbledore know?"

Harry smiled. Back in England, no one would have dared to ask that question. Dumbledore was the epitome of the Good Guy, impervious to mistakes. Here, he was just a great figure of history. A far away one.

"Yes. Perhaps not everything, but most of it."

The hand on his knee twitched. "Then why-?"

"He was trying to keep me safe," Harry said. "From dark wizards."

"And didn't he care about what your family would do to you in the process?"

"I was important to the war," Harry said. "And I didn't have a legal guardian who gave a damn, no one who'd take me out of school when things heated up."

"But there must have been someone who cared?"

"There were lots of people," he said. "Lupin, a friend of my parents. Sirius, for a while - my godfather. The Weasleys."

"They're the ones you talk about all the time?"

"Yes. The only family I had back then. And there were others, in the Order, who cared about me, personally, not just as the Boy-Who-Lived."

"Then why-?"

"Because Dumbledore was the leader, and everyone just assumed he knew best. Myself included, really."

"Even though he had left you there?"

"I didn't learn about that until the end of my fifth year." As always when he thought about that moment, Harry sent a brief hello to Sirius - wherever he was. "And Dumbledore did try to make it up to me."

"What can make up for that?"

"Nothing," Harry answered. "He just made sure I could stay alive long enough to get past it. Which I've done mostly."

"Is that why you left?"

Harry laughed soundlessly.

"Sorry," she said. "Everyone keeps asking you that, I know."

"Yeah. I left for a lot of reasons, some of which I didn't realise back then. I didn't go back for as many reasons."

"Such as?"

"Such as the shadow of Voldemort that seemed to follow me everywhere. People over there still want to know what it was like for me, and most time, it's not out of any interest for my well-being. Such as the fact that I needed some time alone with myself, so I could process what had happened."

"Five years? That's a long time to process."

"I wanted to be alone with myself, so I wasn't influenced, by anyone."

Margaret laughed a little and he raised his head to watch her. "What?"

"Sorry, but Harry, no man or woman is an island. That's a cliché, but we're always influenced. By the events happening around us, by the people we meet, or live with. You don't make decisions in a vacuum - the decisions are influenced by who you know, by past experiences, by what you want out of life. How can you be 'not influenced' by travelling around the world?"

Harry shrugged. "Anyone I know, I meant."

She shook her head, as if exasperated. "They're with you, you know. Even if you don't know it. They don't watch you struggle, but you know what they would think of this, or that. No, Harry, I'm sorry, but if all you wanted was to deal with what had happened, I think you would have gone back long ago."

Harry smiled a little and sat up, his shoulder almost touching hers. "I did feel like I was still looking for something," he said. "I'm not sure I know what."

"Closure?" she asked, handing him the letter.

"I doubt it will be that easy."

"It's not meant to be easy. But wouldn't you regret not seeing him again?"

Harry had to admit, until Margaret showed up, he had sincerely been wondering if it was worth the trip. His last conversations with Dumbledore had been civil enough, and, in the end, they had never had time to become that close.

But…

Harry had learned that Vernon Dursley had passed away while he was travelling in South Africa, six months into his trip, and somehow, Harry had felt cheated to learn that the man had died from a heart attack. Harry had always planned to go see him, once, when he'd feel more balanced, more ready, and to vent, yell at the man for the way he had treated a kid placed in his care. He should have done it sooner. He doubted Vernon would have understood Harry; he doubted Vernon would have thought he had deserved his nephew's resentment, but all that was moot now that he was dead.

It didn't matter that much. The Dursleys may have shaped who he had become, but they were ignorant, bigoted people, who had such a limited view of the world that Harry had often pitied them in the last years.

Dumbledore was another matter.

Harry had genuinely liked the man. He had admired him when he was a kid. And Dumbledore had tried to make it up to him - Harry had known freedom for a few years at Hogwarts.

He didn't want to wonder, three months from now, if he shouldn't have talked to the man one last time.

He shook his head. "No man is an island?" he asked.

Margaret shrugged. "Trite, but true."

He nodded.

"Harry, if you want to move on, I think you should at least hear what he has to say, and try to make peace with him."

"Yeah. I guess I'll go."

"We'll go," she corrected.

She rose. "I'll go see Julius. I'm sure he'll agree. Be ready by the end of the day. If we need to catch a flight on the WizAir, it'll be a close thing."

She went on her quest, and Harry smiled, feeling blessed for having friends.


	10. Chapter 10 : Back to Hogwarts

**A Thousand Fibres  
**  
Helen C.

_Rating : PG-13_

Summary : After Voldemort's defeat, Harry finds himself finally free to do what he wants. Now, if only he knew what he wants...

Spoilers : All five books are fair game.

Disclaimer : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Acknowledgements : Many thanks to Emily, who beta'd this and to Sharon, for her help on the first chapter.

* * *

_Chapter Ten : Back to Hogwarts  
_

Harry entered the Hospital Wing, feeling more nervous than he had in a long time. The teachers were all gathered around a bed and for a moment, Harry feared he had been too late. Then Professor McGonagall spotted him and smiled tiredly. "Harry," she said.

"Professor," he replied.

"Harry, you're not a student here any longer. Call me Minerva." She shook her head. "The number of times I've said that over the years"

Snape sneered. "That's why I keep people calling me Professor."

Harry smiled. "Hello, Professor," he said, taking the hint.

"Mister Potter."

Harry went nearer, and met Dumbledore's gaze. "Headmaster," he said softly.

Dumbledore smiled. "Harry, you may call me Albus, you know."

"Albus," Harry tried. He chuckled. "I'm sure you've heard this before, but that may take a while to get used to."

"I do hear that a lot, indeed," Dumbledore said, his voice hoarse. There was a tense silence that no one seemed to know how to fill. There were only teachers here, Harry thought. No former students, and he felt like an intruder, like a kid spying on adults having a serious discussion. "Please," Dumbledore said at last, addressing the other people in the room, "Could you leave us for a while?"

There were more than a few curious glances shot Harry's way as the teachers cleared the room, but eventually, he found himself alone with his former Headmaster.

"Sir?" he said.

"It's good to see you," Dumbledore said. "How are you doing these days?"

He smiled a little. "Pretty well, actually."

"I heard you were teaching."

Harry shrugged a little. "Seemed like a good job."

"You did seem to like it, when you were forming an army."

The feelings associated with that were bittersweet at best, but Harry nodded. "I did. I do. Not saying I'll do that all my life, but for a while, why not?"

"Yes. I was worried, when you left, that you would - " The old man was interrupted by a coughing fit that wracked his body for what seemed like hours. Harry half rose to get help, but a gesture from Dumbledore stopped him. He prepared a glass of water instead, and waited patiently for Dumbledore to stop coughing.

After a while, Dumbledore said, "Sorry."

"That's okay."

"Where was I?"

"You were worried that I would spend my life running, I assume?"

"Ah. Yes."

Harry shook his head. "Pro - Albus, I left because I had no idea what I wanted, I had no idea who I was, and I didn't want to become" He trailed off, took a deep breath. "I wasn't a hero, just someone marked by an evil wizard and bound by what that wizard wanted."

There was a world of sorrow in Dumbledore's eyes when they met Harry's. "And I certainly didn't help things one bit."

Harry sighed. "No. Well, you made mistakes."

"And I truly apologise for that, my boy."

"I know. I know you're sorry, I know you did what you thought was best."

Dumbledore closed his eyes. "I lost sight of the fact that you were just a boy. Not only our saviour, but a human being, first and foremost. It is easy to find excuses when you think about the greater good. It is a mistake I made too many times. With you, with Sirius, with Severus, in a way."

"And, because people followed your lead, they saw me as that too - when they didn't consider me a threat to their own power." Harry added under his breath, "Yet another reason to leave."

"I'm sorry," Dumbledore said, opening his eyes and looking sadly at Harry.

Harry smiled tightly. "You've said that before. And I know you mean it."

"Leaving you with the Dursleys was inexcusable."

"The way they treated me was their responsibility, not yours," Harry pointed out. "It's not your fault that they were miserable excuses for human beings."

"But I knew they weren't nice people."

"Yes. But that still doesn't change the fact that they had a choice, and made it."

He got up and went to the nearby window. The sun was setting already, Harry realised. "_Time flies, when you're having fun_," his sarcastic inner Snape whispered.

"I forgive you, Albus," he said, without facing the old man. "For what it's worth."

"Worth a lot," Dumbledore assured, breathless - although it was hard to say whether it was due to Harry's words or his life leaving him. "Do you, really?" He seemed imploring.

Harry went back to the bed. "If I may be allowed some constructive criticism?"

Albus smiled, and raised his hand. "Please."

"I would probably have been less mad at you if I had known beforehand that you were human."

Dumbledore almost laughed. "Severus said the same thing to me, years ago."

Harry snorted. "Figures." He shook himself. "I never had to make these kinds of huge decisions, and part of the reason I left was because I didn't want to become your successor. You had a whole world to consider, and I'm sure you had a hard time living with your decisions." Albus had closed his eyes again and Harry hurried on, "I don't know what I would have done, had I been in your shoes. I **know** that with the life I've had, if I was to make such a decision now, I'd most likely screw up. I just wouldn't have it in me to do that to someone else. And where would we all be?"

"I think you underestimate yourself."

Harry shook his head, impatient. "That's not the point. The point is, I'm not sure I would have done better than you. And I know you loved me, and had to make hard decisions. So, yes. I forgive you."

Albus closed his eyes. "It means so much." He looked exhausted.

"I'll go get the others," Harry said in a strangled voice. "I'm sure they'd like to see you."

Dumbledore nodded. "I'm proud of you," he said, taking Harry's hand and squeezing it weakly.

Harry squeezed back. "Goodbye," he said softly.

He got up, and went out of the room. All the teachers were gathered near the hospital wing entrance. "I think you should go in," Harry said, past the lump in his throat. He left without another word, desperately needing some space.

888888

Harry was sitting near the lake. The squid was still there, its form visible in the water. Margaret was wandering on the school grounds. She had insisted on waiting for Harry outside. "It'll be private," she had said. "I'll wait for you here."

A shadow fell on the ground next to Harry. He kept his eyes on the water. "It meant a lot to him, that you came," Professor McGonagall said.

Harry nodded. "Is he - ?"

"He passed away half an hour ago. The place will be a media circus in a short while."

"Yeah." The greatest wizard of the century passing away. Of course, people would mourn. And the journalists would have a field day, and the newspapers would publish special editions.

"Thank you for coming, Harry. He needed to see you."

"I needed to see him too, I think. Thanks for contacting me in time."

She put a hand on his shoulder. He explained, "I had always thought that when my uncle died, I'd just be relieved. But I wish now I'd talked with him, before. Told him how I felt. Not that he would have understood, but perhaps I would have felt better."

"Albus seemed more at peace today than he had in a long while."

"I'm glad," Harry said simply. "I should go, before journalists storm the place."

Instead of answering, McGonagall took Harry in her arms, surprising him. He returned the hug, blushing slightly.

"I'll stay until the funeral," he said.

She released him. "The reporters here haven't forgotten you," she warned.

Harry shrugged. "I'm just another former student paying his respects to his Headmaster," he said. "I'm sure I won't be the only one at his funeral."

She smiled sadly. "No, I dare say you won't be." She looked toward the castle. "I should go check that all the diverting charms are still in place. We're trying to run the school as if nothing is happening, it wouldn't do for students to add even more chaos to the situation."

"You realise they probably all know what's happening, and will try to sneak a glance anyway," he said.

She nodded primly. "Of course. Does it mean I must make it easier for them?"

He laughed lightly. "No, I suppose not."

"I'll see you at the funeral, Harry."

After one final smile, she went.

88888888888

"You okay?" Margaret asked when she joined him.

"I think so."

He sank to the floor, feeling strangely lost. It wasn't as if Dumbledore had been a constant in his life - he had ruled it for a long time, but that was long ago. And Harry had known what to expect when he came here.

Margaret sat on the grass next to him.

"Beautiful place," she said.

"Yeah."

"Must have been cool, coming to class in a castle."

"Most of the time, we were too busy studying to pay attention to the scenery," Harry said.

She looked doubtful. "I've heard stories. You get talkative when you're drunk."

"Oh boy."

She laughed. "Nothing too compromising," she assured him. "Just stories about harmless mischief."

He lay on his back. He should go soon, he knew. Journalists would arrive, and once they were done with McGonagall, they would snoop on the grounds and find people who could give them quotes for their articles.

But it was so peaceful here, near the lake.

Margaret lay down next to him and leaned on an elbow. "How did it go with him?"

"Fine." He stared at the sky for a long moment before going on. "He asked my forgiveness, I granted it."

"Did you mean it?"

"Yes," he said. "He was dying, and old. It was easier to see him as an old man who made mistakes, instead of as an all-powerful wizard."

"No one is all powerful," Margaret pointed out.

"He faked it well."

She laughed. "I can imagine Julius being like that in a few years," she said.

"Me too. Pretty unflappable, isn't he? Nothing ever seems to sway him."

"No. He makes a remarkable poker player. Don't bet money when you play him."

"I'll keep that in mind."

They stayed silent for a few more minutes, listening to the quiet. The sky was incredibly blue for the season, and the wind in the tree had a soothing effect. Sometimes, they heard a bird land on the water, or the squid as it passed them. Harry could have stayed forever.

He shook himself after a while. "We should go, I think." "_Before I fall asleep_," he added inwardly. He hadn't had much sleep on the trip there.

He helped Margaret to her feet and began to walk to the edge of the castle wards. "Time to meet the Weasleys," he said.

She gave a mock-shudder. "Oh dear, what will you do with me if they don't like me?" she asked.

"Stop talking to you, of course," he answered, grinning.

"Humpf."

"They'll love you," he felt compelled to say.

She smiled. "Okay."

"And don't forget, don't eat or drink or accept anything from the twins."

Now, Margaret looked worried.


	11. Chapter 11 : Goodbye and Hello

**A Thousand Fibres  
**  
Helen C.

_Rating : PG-13_

Summary : After Voldemort's defeat, Harry finds himself finally free to do what he wants. Now, if only he knew what he wants...

Spoilers : All five books are fair game.

Disclaimer : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Acknowledgements : Many thanks to Emily, who beta'd this and to Sharon, for her help on the first chapter.  


* * *

_Chapter Eleven : Goodbye and Hello  
_

Margaret's meeting with the Weasleys went well, to Harry's relief. He wondered why it seemed so important to him, before shrugging off the question as unimportant.

Fred greeted Margaret in typical Fred fashion. "So, you're the one Harrykins told us so much about."

Ron was always exasperated when the twins butchered his own name like that, but Harry had always found it funny and touching. The twins had accepted him into the family without blinking, seeing him as yet another younger sibling - and as yet another potential guinea pig for their experiments.

"So you're the business partners Harry told me so much about," Margaret answered, without missing a beat. "Chief pranksters. Bane of all the teachers of the world."

George looked at her, then at Harry. "I like her," he said decisively. "She can stay."

And, just like that, Margaret entered the Weasley family. She took everything in stride - Charlie and his passionate fifteen minutes lecture on the latest Hungarian Horntail he had studied, Bill and Fleur, Ron's earring and his five year old son, a genius who could already read complicated theoretical books and who wanted to talk about nothing but Potions, to Ron's dismay.

As she was preparing to leave, late that day, she said, "I can see why they adopted you."

"They've adopted you too, now."

"Good," she said.

They smiled nervously, and Margaret waved before Apparating away.

When Harry went back inside, the twins looked at him knowingly, making Harry feel vaguely self-conscious.

88888

To say that a few students came to say a last goodbye to Albus Dumbledore would have been like saying that the Hogwarts students were a little afraid of Snape.

There were over five hundred people at the funeral, which took place at Hogwarts - on the Quidditch pitch, for lack of space inside.

Harry was with the Weasleys - a sea of redheads all around him. He saw Snape watching the kids warily, just as Hermione was leaning over to whisper in his ear, "The oldest one will be eleven in two years. And then, all the others" She giggled, and put a hand to her mouth. "I shouldn't laugh."

"Why not? I'm sure Dumbledore would have found that hilarious."

She nodded. "He would, wouldn't he?"

The funeral was long - there were many people who insisted on talking, most them making Harry want to roll his eyes. The Minister, praising Dumbledore's achievements. The leader of the Auror's division. A few deputies to the Minister - including Percy, and from the angry hissing all around him, Harry could tell that he was still at odds with the rest of his family.

A few former students. Three influential people who seemed to have bought their way to the stage, unwilling to let go of such a public tribute. Listening to them, painting Dumbledore as a demi-god, Harry wondered if they had known anything at all about the man.

Minerva and Snape were last. Their speeches, sincere and to the point, were the only ones that moved Harry.

When it was finally over, and people began to leave, Harry said to Hermione, "He would have hated most of that, wouldn't he?"

She nodded. "I think he'd have preferred us drinking tea, eating sweets, and trying to get Snape to lighten up."

A shadow looming behind them made Harry smile. The man truly had a knack for sneaking up on people when they least wished it. "Professor," he said, without turning around.

"Potter. Granger."

Hermione stuttered, blushing. Ron approached them, and put an arm around Hermione's waist, taking her away. He hadn't even greeted Snape, and Harry wondered what had happened. As if reading his thoughts, Snape said, "He's a little angry about a comment I made, stating his son would be in Slytherin." He paused, and added as an afterthought, "Unfortunately."

"Ah," Harry said.

"You're not even going to argue the point?"

Harry smiled sardonically. "I think you're right, and I told Ron so. He's desperate, I think, would be a good word for it."

He saw a journalist photographing him, and he resisted the urge to flinch away. To his relief, the press hadn't been too much of a hassle. They seemed content to report news about the funeral, about what Dumbledore had done, who he had been, and hadn't paid much attention to Harry. But still, there were photographers who couldn't spot him without immediately wanting to take his picture.

"You seem well," Snape commented.

Harry looked up at him, covering his surprise. "Yes, thanks. So do you." It was true. The man was aging relatively gracefully, and seemed more relaxed now than he had been during Harry's school years.

Snape nodded. "I assume you have felt no more ill effects from the time I last saw you."

"No. I would have written, if I had."

"You weren't always known for your ability to take care of yourself, Mister Potter."

"People change."

"Indeed."

There was a pause, and Harry couldn't decide if it was comfortable or not. "I'm teaching," he offered to break the silence. "And I now wonder how you could stand us."

"I couldn't, if you remember."

Harry smiled. "Well, you didn't kill us."

"Not that I wasn't tempted."

"Of course." He frowned a little. "Why did you continue to teach, after Voldemort's death?" he asked. "You seemed to hate it so much."

Snape seemed surprised at the direct question. "Access to one of the best libraries in Europe. Loyalty to Dumbledore. Possibility to experiment."

Harry nodded. "Okay." He shuffled a little, feeling like a ten-year-old in front of his former teacher. Snape could make grown-ups feel like they were waiting to know what their detention would be about, Harry realised. Dumbledore had had the same ability. But Dumbledore had always been welcoming and kind, while Snape clearly despised most people. Harry wondered again why the man had taken the time to advise him in his last year. "Why did you talk to me, in my seventh year, when I was-?"

"Hyperventilating all over the hallways?"

"It only happened once," Harry protested.

"One time too many," Snape countered. "And the reason I did, was because you were a student, I was a teacher, and contrary to popular belief, I am not a monster."

"I didn't think you were," Harry pointed out.

Snape raised an eyebrow, somehow managing to convey a world of doubt in the single motion.

"Well, you insulted me five minutes after meeting me, what did you want me to do? Be grateful?" Harry asked.

"Hardly. I didn't care what you would do, Mister Potter, and that attitude may have been appropriate had I been dealing with another student, but you had the potential and the abilities to do much worse than any other student."

The words hit him like a punch in the face, and Snape scowled. "Your godfather's death was caused by a number of people, Potter. The Headmaster should have been more open with you, instead of coddling you and sparing you the harsh realities. You should have been more assiduous. Black should have been more careful. Lestrange should have been interned. And I should have remembered that you would be asked to save us all. And that you had to be prepared for that." He sneered. "The Headmaster was too kind, I was too harsh, and you learned nothing that would have helped you to prevent what happened."

Harry clenched his teeth. "Yeah." He looked Snape in the eyes. "All of which doesn't answer my question."

"I don't admit to culpability often, Mister Potter."

"I know."

Snape considered him silently for a moment. "I talked to you because I realised no one else would - either because they were convinced you were fine, or because they didn't dare approach you. I talked to you because you freed me from the worst consequences of an error I made when I was your age. I talked to you because I hadn't spent seven years watching your back so you could trap yourself in a job you didn't like and end up killed because your heart wasn't in it. I talked to you, Potter, because, much as it pains me to admit, you were, indeed, different from your father."

Harry forced his jaw to close before it reached the ground. "I see," he said faintly.

"I assume that half hour of my life didn't go to waste?"

Harry smiled. "No, it didn't. Thank you."

Snape nodded formally.

Minerva was coming to see them, and Snape sighed, "I must leave now, and go talk to people who are even more insufferable than you are."

Harry nodded, biting back a smile. "Yeah. I'll go back to the Burrow, all the others are gathered there."

Snape looked horrified at the very notion. "Good bye, then, Mister Potter."

"Good bye, Professor, and thanks again."

Snape bowed slightly and joined Minerva. Harry waved at her to say goodbye, and she answered in kind.

Then, he went to the edge of the wards and Apparated to the Weasleys' home.

88888

It was late. Most of the Weasleys had left or gone to bed a while ago, leaving only Ginny, Ron, Bill, Hermione and Harry in the kitchen.

The discussion had long since left Dumbledore, and what they had got up to at school.

Ginny had talked a lot about her job - head editor in a women's magazine. Bill and Ron were trading stories of their respective jobs as curse breakers. Ron's talent at chess had been a huge asset in his job, he told Harry. He needed to analyse a lot, to be able to plan ahead. He had been offered a job in Egypt now, and Harry and Bill regaled him with stories about the country.

"How do you like teaching?" Hermione asked, as the conversation began to die down.

"I was expecting it to be like the DA, you know," he said. "But it's more tiring, and fun, too."

"That would be because you're not teaching these kids to fight for their lives, mate," Ron said.

Harry snorted. "You may be right."

"Are you planning to stay in the US, then?" Bill asked.

Harry bit his lip. "I honestly don't know," he said. "This year, at least."

Hermione said, "We miss you, you know."

"I miss you guys, too," he said sincerely. "I still look for you, sometimes, when I want someone to come play Quidditch, or to help me research something. Or even when I want to talk."

"But you have friends there," Hermione said.

"I do. And they're good friends, and I love them a lot. But"

"It's not the same thing," Ron said.

Harry shook his head.

"Yeah. I made friends too, in my job, and Hermione too, but those years in Hogwarts were special."

Bill intervened. "You guys are lucky. I didn't stay in touch with most of my friends from then."

Harry smiled. "The circumstances were special," he said. "There was a lot of pressure on all of us, and there was always the occasional madman out to kill me and/or us."

"Yeah, we became friends by knocking down a troll," Ron said, laughing.

"And that was just our first year," Hermione added, giggling.

Harry, thinking back on it, couldn't help but laugh too. The monster's head had almost reached the ceiling, and they had been tiny first years. And they had been so scared, and yet, remembering Ron, levitating the troll's club above its head, was priceless, now.

There was a small pause, as everyone sipped their drinks. Bill and Ginny took the opportunity to bid their farewell. "Job to do tomorrow and all that."

So, in the end, it was just the trio again.

"We were wondering if you'd come," Ron said. " I know you had a complicated relationship with Dumbledore."

"Yeah." Harry sighed. "I think he wanted me to forgive him."

Hermione nodded. "Of course. He was responsible for a lot of what happened to you."

"Yes."

"What about you?" she wanted to know.

"I think I needed to forgive him, too," he said. "To be able to move on, I suppose."

"Hadn't you before?" Ron asked.

"It's never really done, Ron. There are always things that keep you back, that remind of what you lost. Or what you gained, really."

"It was a step forward," Hermione said.

"Yes."

"Good then," she said. "We were worried when you left, and even more when you didn't come back to live here."

"There was never any doubt to me that I would come back, Hermione," he said. "There still isn't, for that matter."

"But your life over there-"

"Is great, and fun. And I have friends, and they're good people. But still, I think that if I stayed there indefinitely, I would really run away."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "What does Margaret think about it?"

Harry tried to make himself stop blushing, without success. "There's nothing between Margaret and I."

"Yet," Hermione threw in. "And even if there isn't, well, she's not your only friend there."

"I never hid the fact that I would come back here. They know what to expect."

"Doesn't seem to bother her, at least" Hermione commented.

"I hope not. But then, what's to stop us from living a few years over here, and a few years over there?"

"Could you do that?"

"Why not?"

"What if you have children?"

Harry laughed. "Hermione, we're not even thirty. A wizard life-expectancy is roughly 150. We have time to move around a little, don't you think? And Margaret and I both went to boarding schools, and enjoyed it, so chances are our kids would go to one, too."

He then wondered when it had gone from "There's nothing between Margaret and I" to "Our kids could go to boarding school." He blushed. Ah hell

Ron smiled, ignoring Harry's discomfort. "You sound pretty relaxed about it all."

"As you are about Egypt," Harry answered. "Hermione will follow you and work from there. And for now you're here, and who knows where we'll all be in five years?"

Hermione raised her glass. "To travels," she said.

They all cheered, and drank some more. And talked, for hours, catching up and making plans for the future.

888888

As the plane, the Muggle plane (Harry had had enough of WizAir for the month, thank you very much) touched down, Harry smiled. He would be back one day, he knew. He had travelled around the world for five years without ever doubting it, and even now, with a new home and a new job, and friends, he knew that sooner or later, he would go back to England.

It wouldn't help to agonise over the when and how, he thought.

What would come would come, opportunities or failures. He would deal with both as well as he could.

And in the meantime, he had friends and a family, to help him through the rough patches and to celebrate with him.

He had gone through the formalities and was about to hail a cab when a flurry of movement caught his eyes, and he spotted his friends, waving at him, smiling cheerfully.

He smiled and waved back, and when he reached them, they hugged him.

For now, he was home.

THE END


End file.
